


Relative Strangers

by MelanieR



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:08:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23453791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelanieR/pseuds/MelanieR
Summary: First season story. Tessa's aunt comes for a visit. She isn't too sure about this teenager living with Duncan and Tessa.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	Relative Strangers

"You know, you guys should build another room onto this place. That way when you have company I won't have to be banished to the couch," Richie suggested, leaning up against the wall and watching Tessa move about his room, straightening this and that. With his things stowed away in the back, the bedroom looked nearly the same as it had the day he moved in. How easy it was to erase all signs of him. His stomach gave a sickening lurch at the thought.

His words struck a nerve in the Frenchwoman as well, and she stopped in the midst of her activities to regard him solemnly. "Do you mind very much, Richie?" she asked, realizing that in the hurley-burley of preparations for her Aunt Georgienne's visit she hadn't stopped to think of Richie's feelings at all.

The concerned expression on her face made Richie regret his words immediately and he was quick to reassure her, pasting an easy smile on his face. "No, I don't mind, Tessa. You know I *love* the couch," he joked. "I still say I should stay with friends while your aunt's here, though."

"No," Tessa said adamantly. They had been over this subject several times in the week since receiving the communique from her aunt announcing her imminent arrival, but Richie seemed determined to pursue it. "This is your home and I won't have you looking for accommodations somewhere else." 

She didn't tell him that she would sooner see her aunt ensconced in a nice motel, than have him spend even one night in his old neighborhood. That little tidbit she kept to herself, unsure of his reaction to her less-than-glowing opinion of some of his friends. "Besides," Tessa continued, "you work here and you would have to run back and forth. It makes much more sense for you to stay and rough it on the couch for a few weeks. I'm sure she won't stay any longer than that." She gave him a piercing stare. "You really don't mind?" 

"No, Tess, I really don't mind," he assured her, and for the most part it was true. After all, the couch was considerably softer than a lot of places he'd bedded down, and he didn't have to fight anyone else for the right to sleep there, either. And if he worried down deep inside that moving him out to the couch was a prelude to moving him out altogether, he had only himself to blame. Neither Duncan nor Tessa had ever given him any indication that they resented his presence or wanted him to leave. It was simply the years of rejection-moving from one foster home to another-that had left scars that ran deeper than he wanted to admit, even to himself. And if he occasionally became uncharacteristically quiet and brooding, well, sometimes it was difficult to keep those memories at bay. 

"Good," Tessa said with a small smile, bending back to her self-assigned task of making the bed. "Richie, have you cleaned your closet? I don't want Aunt Gigi finding any nasty surprises."

"Yes, I cleaned the closet. Geez, Tessa, what do you think I do in here, anyway?"

Tessa threw him a slightly alarmed look. "I'm sure I don't know. And I'm probably better off."

"Thanks," he snorted. "Aunt Gigi, huh? Funny name."

"Well, her given name is Georgienne, but I couldn't pronounce it when I was small and used a variation that sounded like Gigi. She thought it was cute. I've never called her anything else."

"So how long's it been since you saw her?"

"Four years. She stopped by on her trip to Vancouver a few years after Duncan and I opened the store."

"Vancouver? That's in Canada, right?" Richie asked, helping her smooth out the comforter.

"Yes. She said it was one of the few places she hadn't seen."

"Huh?"

Tessa smiled at his puzzled look. "She's a world traveler, Richie. She's called Great Britain her home for nearly forty years, but she's been everywhere. Her first husband left her quite well-off financially, and her 'companion' of the past eight years has some lucrative holdings."

"How come she lived in England, if she was born in France?"

"She married young-at nineteen-and he was British. I don't think grand-pere ever forgave her for that."

"Her dad didn't like the English?"

"No, it wasn't that. It was that she moved so far away. She was his baby. His son-my father-was considerably older. Besides, fathers are very protective of their daughters, Richie."

"Yeah, I've noticed," Richie retorted, with a cocky grin. He'd received more than his share of dark looks from the fathers of girls he'd dated over the years.

Tessa smiled sympathetically, and patted his cheek. "Well, I think that's everything," she said on a weary sigh. "Oh, wait, did you—"

"*Yes*, Tessa," he said firmly.

"You don't even know what I was going to say," she informed him, lips pursed.

"Doesn't matter," he retorted confidently. "Yes, I scrubbed the shower; yes, I took all my clothes out of the hamper and, yes, the sink is spotless. Satisfied?"

"Did you collect your dirty towels?"

"Um..."

Tessa strode into the bathroom after throwing him a mildly reproving look and returned with said towels, dumping them into his arms and ushering him toward the door. 

"Oh, wait, I almost forgot the body I've got stuffed under the bed," he said flippantly, and came to an abrupt halt.

"Very funny."

"What's funny?" Duncan inquired, coming to stand just inside the room.

"Tessa doesn't believe I've got a body stashed under the bed. Give me a hand with it, will ya, Mac? It's pretty heavy."

"All right," Tessa said, frowning at Duncan's amused expression, "I suppose I asked for that. Take those towels to the laundry room and throw them in the wash, and, Richie...put some detergent in the machine and turn it on, please. They won't wash themselves."

"Gee, no kidding. No problem, Tess," he threw back over his shoulder as he trudged down the hall with his burden. 

"I notice you got back just as the work was finished," Tessa said curtly, nudging Duncan aside and heading for the kitchen.

"Tessa, you make it sound like I don't love vacuuming," Duncan retorted guilelessly as he followed in her wake.

"And you can save that innocent expression for someone else. Richie does a better job of it and I don't fall for *his* either."

Duncan's response was to wrap his arms around her from behind, despite her efforts to stop him, and hold her until she relaxed against him.

"Bad day?" he murmured in her ear.

"No," she sighed, "and I'm sorry. I'm just feeling a little apprehensive about Aunt Gigi's visit," she admitted, turning to face him.

"It's not the first time she's been here, Tessa," he pointed out.

"No, but we didn't have sword-wielding Immortals popping up all the time then...or a teenage boy in the house, either."

"I'll try to keep all the Immortals away for the next month. The unfriendly variety, anyway," he promised with a small smile. "You're not really worried about Richie, are you? It didn't take him long to win *you* over."

"No, it didn't. But for all that Aunt Gigi hasn't exactly lived a hermit's life, she's still very old-fashioned in some ways. I'm not sure that she's ever lived in close-quarters with anyone quite like Richie before. I'm being silly, I know, but I just don't want anything to ruin her visit."

"And it won't," he assured her. "There's not a sword-wielding Immortal in sight, and Richie already knows to be on his best behavior. Relax, Tessa."

"You're right. I'm worrying over nothing. You'll keep us safe and Richie will be a perfect little angel."

Duncan chuckled easily at that. "Well, let's not ask for miracles. I wouldn't go slapping any halos on him just yet."

"No, I suppose that is asking a bit much," she confessed with a small smile. "I'll guess I'll have to settle for a few weeks of relative peace and quiet."

"Now that sounds like a plan."

"And that sounds like a Richie-ism to me," Tessa said as she wrapped her arms about his neck.

"It does, doesn't it?" he agreed, leaning in to brush his lips across hers. "I must be spending too much time around teenagers. Maybe I need a little adult companionship to get over it. What do you think I should do about that?"

"Oh, I'll think of something," she purred, a moment before his lips claimed hers once more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Duncan set off for Seacouver International Airport bright and early the next morning to meet Georgienne's flight, leaving Richie and Tessa behind to await their return. 

Within ten minutes, Richie was wishing that he had gone along. Tessa seemed to be taking great delight in finding one little chore after another for him to do, despite the fact that the store and apartment were spotless. He was in the planning stages of a small mutiny, when the front door opened and Duncan walked in with their houseguest.

Georgienne Dupree was not what Richie had been expecting. 

She stood a good three inches shorter than her niece, even in heels, and while Tessa spoke with a French accent, her aunt's speech had a clipped British sound to it. Tessa was fair-haired, Georgienne had silver-grey hair which she had artfully arranged in a bun at the back of her head, small tendrils falling down about her cheeks, framing a face that belonged on a much younger woman.

There *was* one area in which she greatly resembled her niece-her wardrobe. Georgienne arrived in an unmistakably expensive assemble. Richie had been around Tessa long enough to recognize silk and cashmere when he saw them-probably because on at least one occasion he'd mistakenly thrown those same fabrics into the wash and had to endure Tessa's tirade afterwards. Georgienne was wearing a combination of both. She had also mastered her niece's ability to look casual in said clothing, as if wearing three-hundred dollar outfits were completely within the norm. Richie supposed it was, if what Tessa had said about the woman's wealth was true. She also had Tessa's habit of overpacking for a trip, arriving with five suitcases of various sizes that now sat neatly arranged just inside the front door.

Richie stood by as the two woman greeted each other-hugging and kissing repeatedly and speaking at the same time. Duncan threw him an amused smile which he returned, shaking his head and silently mouthing the word 'women' while he patiently waited for Tessa to make the introductions. 

It was actually Georgienne who turned to him first.

"And this must be the young man you told me about. Richard, isn't it?" she asked, giving him an appraising look that made the teenager wish he had put on a suit for their initial meeting. That was silly of course, since neither Duncan nor Tessa had dressed up, but still he couldn't shake the feeling that her gaze took in every detail of his appearance and found him wanting.

"Um, it's Richie," he corrected amiably, accepting the hand she offered. Her handshake was firm and she held his hand a moment longer than necessary, seeming to study his face until he flushed and looked down at his feet self-consciously.

"Well, I've heard quite a bit about you," she informed him, and Richie wondered if the lack of warmth he detected in her voice was just his imagination working overtime.

"I've heard about you, too," he replied, wondering vaguely what Tessa had told her aunt about his background.

One finely arched eyebrow rose at that. "Have you?"

"Uh, yeah." Richie was feeling more and more uncomfortable with every passing minute. If it weren't for the fact that he'd never set eyes on the lady before, he would have wondered what he'd done to piss her off, but Duncan and Tessa seemed oblivious to the tension in the room, smiling happily as they watched the exchange. "Why don't I take your bags up to your room?" he volunteered, eager to get out from under her scrutiny.

"I'll give you a hand, Rich," Duncan offered, stepping forward.

"No, that's okay, I'll do it." Richie grabbed up as many of the suitcases as he could and moved off at a brisk pace, completely missing the surprised looks that both Duncan and Tessa shot him.

"So, that's Richard," Georgienne remarked, as he disappeared around the corner.

"Yes, that's Richie," Duncan acknowledged, and smiled. "I think he's a little nervous. Tessa built you up so much, he probably thought he was in the presence of greatness," he teased, earning a light smack from the blonde at his side.

"He's not what I had pictured," Georgienne commented, unwittingly verbalizing Richie's earlier thoughts about her.

"What were you expecting, a street urchin covered with a layer of grime?" Tessa asked with a smile. 

"We make Richie bathe once a week, whether he needs it or not," Duncan added, grinning broadly.

"All right, you two," Georgienne admonished lightly, with a fond smile for the couple. "Show some respect for an old woman."

"Old, my...foot," Duncan retorted. "You couldn't be a day over forty."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, my lad. A hot cup of tea, on the other hand, will earn you my undying gratitude."

"Of course, madame," he said with a small flourish and gallantly offered his arm. "If I may?"

"You may," she replied, linking her arm through his and smiling at her niece. "I see he hasn't lost any of his charm."

"He has his moments," Tessa grudgingly agreed.

Duncan offered his other arm to her and the threesome headed for the kitchen.

Richie stood in his bedroom amidst the pile of suitcases, gazing out the window, deep in thought. There was something about the way Tessa's aunt had looked at him that reminded him of some of his case workers-men and women who had seen him as a problem to be solved...or eradicated. It wasn't fair to put Georgienne into the same mold so soon, he knew, but he couldn't shake the feeling that the woman had an agenda-and he was at the top of the list.

He didn't hear Duncan enter the room and started as a strong hand landed on his shoulder. "You hiding in here?" the Scot teased as Richie spun around to face him.

"Ah...no. I just thought maybe you guys would like to be alone for a while."

"It was a nice thought, Richie, but there isn't anything we're going to say that you can't hear. Come on," he coaxed, draping an arm around the teenager's shoulders, "Tessa's breaking out her stash of cookies."

"She told me we were all out of them," Richie said accusingly.

"It was the only way she could keep a certain someone from finishing them off before her company arrived."

"Geez, you'd think I eat a lot the way you guys act sometimes," he grumbled, good-naturedly.

"Perish the thought," Duncan sallied, chuckling at Richie's disgruntled expression as they stepped through the doorway into the kitchen.

Georgienne was already at the table nursing a cup of tea and Richie took the seat across from her. He gave her a winning smile, willing to put his misgivings aside and start fresh. The lady was perfectly pleasant, nodding in response to his smile and thanking him for moving her luggage, and by the time Tessa set the platter of cookies and pitcher of milk on the table Richie had convinced himself that his fears were completely unfounded.

Richie made sure that both Tessa and her aunt took their choice of the cookies before he helped himself to what was left. In all the time he'd lived with the couple Richie had rarely seen Duncan eat anything that even remotely resembled sweets. Why, he didn't know. After all the guy didn't have to worry about developing diabetes or anything, but to each his own. Richie was more than happy to be the resident junk-food junkie.

Georgienne's eyebrow rose at the sight of Richie dunking a cookie into his glass of milk, a gesture that Richie didn't miss; he froze with it halfway to his mouth, then hastily set it down. He supposed dunking cookies wasn't something generally accepted in high society, but now it was just turning into a soggy mess on his plate, little rivulets of milk running to pool at the center of the blue china.

"Richie, what on Earth are you trying to do?" Tessa scolded, eyeing his plate. "You can't possibly eat that now."

"Yeah, I'm sorry, Tessa. I guess my mind wandered."

Duncan leaned toward him. "Careful, Rich, it's too small to be out on its own."

"Thanks," Richie returned dryly.

Tessa had already gone to the cabinet and pulled out a clean plate, exchanging it for the one sitting before him. She scraped the cookie remains into the garbage and opened the dishwasher, finding to her obvious displeasure that it was completely full of still-dirty dishes. "Richie, didn't I tell you to run this last night?" She had assumed her customary pose of displeasure-standing hands-on-hips.

"Uh, yeah. I guess I forgot." He saw Georgienne steeple her fingers before her as she observed the interplay between them and came to the conclusion that he'd just lost more ground with the woman. "I'll do it right now," he offered, jumping to his feet so quickly that his chair flew back several feet.

"Never mind," Tessa said gruffly, and started the appliance herself-the steady thrum as it began its cycle, barely audible from across the room. "Sit down, Richie. I expected you to have at least half of those cookies finished off by now," she added, taking some of the sting out of her words as she took her seat next to her aunt. "Richie can eat more in one afternoon than Duncan and I put together," she confided, throwing both males a fond smile. "Was Papa that bad when he was a boy?"

"Well he was quite a bit older than I, but I do remember Maman teasing him about it in later years. Of course he worked very hard, your grandfather saw to that. Hard work builds character," she went on, glancing pointedly at the teenager sitting across from her.

Even without the look, Richie would have had no doubt that the comment was aimed at him, and the barb hit home. Forgetting to run the dishwasher didn't exactly show a lack of character, he told himself, just that things slipped his mind sometimes, especially when the Sonics game was about to start on the local television network and he didn't want to miss any of it. That last thought had him wincing inwardly. Okay, maybe his character *could* use a little developing. Damn. Tessa's aunt had only been in the place an hour and he was already feeling like a no-account bum. 'Well, that's what you are, isn't it?' his inner voice argued. 

"Oh, shut up."

"Richie!"

The teenager broke away from his thoughts to find all three adults staring at him in varying degrees of shock. "What?"

"That was very rude," Tessa reprimanded him. "Don't ever let me hear you tell a guest in this house to shut up again."

"Tess, I didn't mean—"

"No? Exactly what did you mean, then?" she demanded, looking at him expectantly.

Richie's gaze drifted to each face at the table then dropped to study his plate, filled with as-yet-untouched Linzer cookies. "I was talking to myself," he admitted, coloring visibly.

"Are you in the habit of telling yourself to shut up?" Georgienne asked, her tone unmistakably sharp.

"Not usually," Richie said with a slight shrug of his shoulders. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, wondering idly if he held the record for most apologies given in a five minute period.

"Richie, look at me, please," Tessa ordered, not unkindly and waited for him to do so. She studied his face for a moment, then smiled, apparently finding the answer to an unasked question. "It's not very polite to tell yourself to shut up, either," she teased lightly, "but I'll overlook it this time." 

Richie smiled back at her and was rewarded with two more cookies being added to the pile on his plate.

"I want you to eat those."

"Wait, I'll get the camera," Duncan announced suddenly, and started to rise.

"Whatever for?"

"You just *told* Richie to eat junk food. We'll need pictures for the paper."

"Yeah," Richie said, joining in the fun, "I can see the headlines now, 'Seacouver beauty loses mind in horrible cookie incident, loved ones suspect powdered-sugar poisoning, news at eleven,'" he heralded in his best announcer's voice.

Laughter erupted around the table-from three of the diners, at least. Georgienne was not amused at the ease with which Richie had extricated himself from an uncomfortable situation. Oh, she could well understand how Tessa might be charmed by big blue eyes and seemingly innocent smiles, but Duncan's ready acceptance of his rather flimsy excuse was a surprise. Their amusement was all well and good if the boy's slip was completely innocent, as he claimed. Georgienne was not at all sure that it was, however. Her close perusal of him had not gone unnoticed by the young man, of that she was certain, and perhaps his little faux-pas was a subconscious attack against someone he considered a threat to his current situation. Whatever the reason, his little lapse had only fortified her suspicions that the boy needed watching.

With the pot of tea empty and the last cookie consumed, Tessa showed her aunt to her room to freshen up and rest before lunch. Georgienne was well aware of the fact that Richie had been evicted to make space for her and wondered what the boy thought of the arrangement. 

She made a slow circle of the room. Georgienne had stayed with Tessa and Duncan years before on a prior visit, but the bedroom was different now. Even without the majority of Richie's personal items about the room it had the feel of a teenager still.

A motorcycle poster held what the boy must have deemed a place of honor on the wall opposite the bed, and she found a small slip of paper on the bathroom floor beside the hamper with the words 'Tiffany-Yowza!' and a phone number, written in a surprisingly neat and legible script. A girlfriend, she concluded with a sniff at what she considered a typical adolescent male habit of rating ones' female acquaintances, and placed it in the nightstand, out of sight.

The note turned her attention to other matters and, after unpacking her things, she settled at the corner desk with her monogram-embossed stationery and took pen in hand. Dearest Ernest,

I have arrived safely, as you have no doubt surmised. My sweet Tessa is as lovely as ever and her Duncan seems to never age. They do make a very handsome couple and are so full of life-they are a joy to watch. Their young guest, or employee, as the case may be, is another matter. He worries me, Dearest. Outwardly he seems a personable youngster-friendly, bright, eager-to-please. However, from what I know of the boy's past from Tessa's letters, I'm afraid that this is merely a cover, perhaps to lure them into a sense of false security. And although I can't say that Duncan and Tessa are innocents, I do believe they may have allowed this boy to dupe them terribly. 

They are both too generous by far, my dear Ernest, and I'm afraid that my greatest fear will come to fruition. The fear that sent me on this trip-that this young Richard Ryan, with his wild ways, will take advantage of their hospitality sooner or later and show his true colors. Will this involve robbery-his modus operandi-I do not know. It will not happen if I can prevent it, and I have set myself the task of keeping an eye on him. If my niece will not watch out for herself and her interests, then I must do it for her. 

Even if my fears should prove to be unfounded, and I pray that they are, at the very least I will have done all I can to correct his abysmal manners. How Tessa, with her upbringing, can tolerate them, I do not know. Wish me luck, Dearest, I will need it.

As always, I remain,

Your Georgienne

She placed the letter in an envelope, addressed it, and set it aside for the morning mail. Of course Tessa would remind her that there were several telephones available for her use, but Georgienne never could abide the things. She simply accepted them as a necessary evil that rang stridently and persistently, demanding ones' immediate and undivided attention. No, she much preferred the almost-forgotten approach of writing a well-thought-out message. Something that might be kept and cherished in coming years. The same could not be said for a phone call.

"Aunt Gigi, lunch is ready," Tessa announced, appearing in the doorway. "We can wait for a while if you're not hungry yet."

"Oh, I think I could do with a little something," she answered, rising and joining her niece, taking both of the younger woman's hands in hers. "Have I ever told you how very precious you are to me?"

A smile lit Tessa's face. "Yes, many times, but I never grow tired of hearing it."

"When you have time you must show me all your latest masterpieces. I must give your papa a full report when I return to Europe. He tells me you are very secretive about your work...among other things," she confided as they left the bedroom, arm-in-arm.

"Hmm, the 'other things' has a slightly ominous ring to it. Aunt Gigi, my life is an open book," she hedged, hating the fact that she had to keep Duncan's Immortality from her family. There was a time in her life, not so long ago, when there was nothing she didn't tell them. A part of her longed for those days, but she wouldn't trade her life with her dark-eyed Scot for anything on this Earth.

The other woman studied her for a moment in silence, then nodded. "As long as you are happy, that is as much as any of us can wish for."

"I am happy. Duncan is wonderful...caring, thoughtful, loving. And Richie..."

"Yes?"

"Well," she said, and laughed, the sound almost musical, "Richie is Richie. There aren't words to do him justice."

"I see," Georgienne replied, hiding her disappointment at the less-than-informative answer as they entered the kitchen to find both Richie and Duncan standing beside the center island, immersed in a conversation of their own. They cut it short as soon as they saw the ladies enter, and Duncan moved to the table while Richie grabbed a few more items from the cabinets, locating a box of Hostess Fruit Pies and pulling out one individually-wrapped treat. "Anybody else want one?" he asked, waving the box around.

"Richie, you've already eaten your weight in cookies today," Tessa reminded him.

"Tess, that was a couple hours ago. I gotta keep my strength up."

The blonde shook her head tolerantly at him, and took her seat as he stowed the box away once more, grabbed a bag of potato chips, and finally made his way to the table. Lunch consisted of honey-baked ham and Swiss cheese piled high on still-warm croissants, along with a pasta salad and a large bowl of ambrosia.

Georgienne nibbled at her meal and regarded the items sitting before the teenager with a jaundiced eye.

"I'm surprised that you keep 'food' like that in the house," she said critically, though her tone was conversational.

"If I didn't, Richie would just smuggle it in and hoard it in his room," Tessa replied, with a small smile for the teenager. "I'd rather have at least a modicum of control over what he eats."

"Shouldn't you be attempting to correct his tastes, rather than enabling them?"

"Oh, don't think I didn't try...at first. Richie can be very persistent when he wants something. Besides, a teenager going through sugar-withdrawal is not the most charming creature alive," she elaborated, making Richie blush and shoot her a look.

"Tessa," he hissed, embarrassed by the open discussion of his eating habits. "Geez, are you gonna talk about my personal hygiene next?"

"That topic would be highly inappropriate in mixed company," Georgienne informed him stiffly. "Not to mention totally unsuitable for mealtime conversation."

"Uh, yeah...right," he mumbled, wishing he could drop through the floor. So much for making a good impression. Richie decided that the better part of valor was retreat and fell silent, speaking only when spoken to and then giving only single-syllable answers when possible. Tessa gave him an odd look more than once, obviously finding his silence and brief replies out of character but, aside from piling a second helping of ambrosia on his plate, did nothing, evidently deciding to let him work out whatever was bothering him on his own. 

Richie, for his part, was just glad when lunch was over and he could flee to neutral ground. He readily agreed to help Duncan start the preliminary measures to categorizing and inventorying the stock, both on the floor and in storage-something he had originally been dreading-and received an odd look from the Highlander, as well, when he volunteered to do the dirty work of crawling around the off-site storage facility, searching for an item that Tessa had prepared a backdrop for. Spending a few hours away from Georgienne's constant judgments would be a very welcome change, and being allowed to drive the T-bird was always enough to bring a smile to the redhead's face.

The hours flew by too quickly for his liking, and he returned home with just enough time to wash off the dirt and cobwebs and change into clean clothes for dinner. Hoping for a better start than the one he'd made at lunch, Richie dressed in dark slacks and the only shirt he owned that didn't have a Harley-Davidson motif or bright color scheme. A few months after he moved in with the couple, Tessa had insisted that he needed a solid-color dress shirt and slacks-an idea he had openly opposed-but he was glad now that she had gotten her way, especially when her aunt appeared at the table looking very stylish in a dark suit and pearls. She gave him a small smile, nodding approvingly at his attire, and Richie was temporarily relieved-that is until he realized that he couldn't very well wear the same outfit night after night. 'Great, there goes a week's pay,' he thought, picturing himself at the local men's clothing store the next day, buying items he didn't really need, and certainly didn't want. Then again, Tessa seemed so happy to have another woman in the house that he told himself it was a small sacrifice to make if it pleased her even a little. He owed her and Duncan so much, there wouldn't even be a week's pay to blow if it weren't for them.

Richie was on his best behavior during dinner, painfully aware that Georgienne watched his every move, however discreetly. Her reactions ranged from a small frown when he put his elbows on the table, to a subtle throat-clearing when he reached across the table for the crescent rolls. Tessa seemed oblivious to her aunt's tacit criticisms, but Richie caught Duncan wearing an amused expression more than once and couldn't help wondering what Tessa's aunt would have thought of the Highlander's table manners if she had seen him eating everything with his fingers like he had when *he* was a teenager.

Unfortunately for Richie, he was *still* a teenager, sometimes awkward and clumsy, arms and legs seemingly having a mind of their own on occasion-and tonight was to be one of those occasions. 

He had just mentally patted himself on the back for coming through most of the meal relatively unscathed, when his questing hand misjudged the distance to his glass of milk and hit it broadside, knocking it over and sending a geyser of milk across the table-into the lap of their very stylishly-dressed houseguest. Georgienne jumped to her feet, as did Tessa, who tried with only minimal success to stop the river of milk from flowing in her aunt's direction. Duncan added his napkin to the blockade while Georgienne swiped at the mess soaking the front of her skirt and blouse.

Richie sat in a mild state of shock, mouth hanging open as a thousand thoughts flew across his brain. 'Oh, God, just kill me now,' seemed to be the most popular, and he repeated it silently like a mantra, hoping once again for the nonexistent hole in the floor to open up and swallow him whole.

Noting his horrified expression, Duncan clapped a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it reassuringly. "Hey, Rich, accidents happen."

"Yes, they do," Georgienne said, in apparent agreement, though her eyes regarded him with mute condemnation. "I'll just go change into something more presentable," she announced, and walked off with quiet dignity, followed closely by her niece.

Richie rose then to help Duncan clear away the soiled tablecloth and replace it with a fresh one before setting the dishes back in place. The teenager had yet to say a word, and sat staring silently at his plate until Duncan clipped him lightly on the back of the head. 

"Snap out of it, Toughguy. It was an accident, all right? I'm sure it's not the first time Georgienne has had a beverage land in her lap," he reasoned.

"Not my beverage," Richie countered, trying to smile wryly and producing something closer to a grimace. "But, hey, you've got a point," he continued, seeing Duncan's distress at his words, "it was just milk. I mean it could have been worse, right?"

"Right, it could have been wine."

"Oh, yeah, sure, like you guys ever let me have wine," Richie groused, sounding more like himself.

"We can't afford the cleaning bills," the Scot bantered.

Richie issued a snort at that. "Wait, let me get my violin. Then you can hum a few bars for me. How does 'The Ballad of the Poor Little Rich Immie' go, again?"

Duncan aimed another swat at the kid's head, but Richie ducked away laughing, the sound dying in his throat as he noticed Tessa and her newly-outfitted aunt standing in the doorway.

He and Duncan both climbed to their feet as the ladies approached the table and Richie cleared his throat, then addressed the elder Frenchwoman. "I'm sorry about your suit."

"Yes, I'm sure you are," Georgienne replied, with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Well, shall we try again?" she asked, taking her seat and continuing her previous conversation as if nothing untoward had happened.

Duncan gave Richie a smile at the woman's words, as if to convince him that they were sincere, but Duncan hadn't seen the coldness behind her eyes. Richie had, and the knowledge that he'd just destroyed any hopes of being accepted by the older woman was a leaden weight in his stomach. He made a conscious effort to eat after that, trying not to draw anyone's attention to him as he swallowed mechanically, tasting little and wanting nothing more than to go to bed-or couch-and pull the covers over his head.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The days fell into a subtle routine after that with Richie avoiding Georgienne as much as was possible, without actually appearing to do so. The last thing he wanted was for either Tessa or Duncan to think he was uncomfortable around the older woman, and how could he explain his uneasiness around her when they obviously didn't see a reason for it? To them, everything was just peachy. Richie scowled at the thought. Yeah, peachy, if you liked being ordered about like a servant, and stared at like you were a fly in the soup. He could handle it, though. He'd endured worse in some of his foster home placements. Besides, this visit was important to Tessa, Georgienne was family, and he wasn't. Richie's scowl deepened at that and he muttered something uncomplimentary, swinging the broom he was using to sweep out the warehouse with slightly more force than was necessary, striking the base of a support beam holding several steel rods against the wall in anticipation of Tessa's next metal-works project with a solid whap. The beam shifted, causing a domino effect as the half-dozen rods kiltered to the side.

There was a blur of movement as a large form rushed by, catching them before they crashed into the unwitting teenager. 

Duncan threw Richie a reproachful look and righted the rods and beam again. 

"Sorry. I guess I wasn't paying attention," Richie admitted sheepishly.

"It's okay, but I don't think you need to attack the floor with quite so much gusto," Duncan quipped with a wry smile, before turning his attention to the room at large. "You said something when I came in. Who were you talking to?"

"Nobody," Richie mumbled, and felt the color rising to his cheeks. 

Duncan threw him a look that said he knew better, but didn't press. "Okay. Did Tessa ask you to clean up out here?"

"No. I just thought it could use it."

Duncan's relaxed perusal of the young man went up a notch in intensity. "Do you feel all right?" He placed a hand on the teenager's forehead, checking for signs of fever.

"I'm fine," Richie muttered, knocking the hand away. "Geez, can't a guy be helpful without you thinking he's sick?"

"Yes, I suppose he can," Duncan relented, giving Richie one last long look. "All right, I'll leave you to it. I've got a few chores of my own to do, namely the first of the month account balancing." He turned back at the stairs. "Richie? Thank you."

"For what?"

"For wanting to help."

"Oh. Yeah, sure, no problem," Richie mumbled, feeling even worse. After all, his reasons for cleaning the workshop had more to do with the fact that Georgienne never ventured out here than any altruistic impulses on his part.

Duncan gave him a warm smile, then disappeared into the office.

Richie made a few more half-hearted swipes at the floor before Duncan's words penetrated his brain. 'The first of the month.' That's right. It was the first of the month and the new issue of the racing magazine, 'Tracks,' would be out. Richie mentally smacked himself for forgetting. He'd been waiting months for this particular issue to be published. He quickly set the broom back in its corner and raced out the back door headed for the corner store and the magazine rack therein, sporting the first genuine smile he'd worn in days.

His excitement was a little premature, as it turned out. The new arrivals at the drug store were only just being set out and he had to wait several minutes, pacing and fidgeting the entire time, until he was able to grab the first copy and rush to the register. The woman in front of him in line struck up a long-winded conversation with the cashier-much to Richie's dismay-and when he very politely suggested that they 'get the lead out' he had to endure a ten minute lecture on what was wrong with today's youth before he was finally allowed to pay for his purchase and escape.

Richie ran all the way back from the drug store with the latest issue of 'Tracks' in his hot little hand, nearly colliding with several pedestrians who didn't realize their peril, and move out of the way of the whirlwind that was Richie Ryan, quickly enough. The front door of the store was merely another obstacle to breach, and he slowed only long enough to yank it open and barrel inside.

The door slammed shut behind him with enough force to rattle the glass in the nearest display case. In typical teenager manner, Richie barely noticed, and was already halfway to his destination when a shrill voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Richard! Come right back here and close that door properly."

Richie came dragging back into the room, muttering under his breath. He opened the front door, then shut it again with exaggerated care, before turning to face Tessa's aunt, whose presence he'd missed in his head-long flight.

"Now, was that so difficult?" she posed.

"No, ma'am," he mumbled, eager to make his escape.

"Perhaps next time you'll do it correctly on your first attempt."

"Yes, ma'am," Richie intoned.

A nod of Georgienne's head released him, and he fled the room as quickly as his legs would carry him.

"Perhaps next time you'll do it correctly on your first attempt," he mimicked, once he was well out of ear-shot.

"What?"

Richie spun around to find Duncan leaning against the kitchen counter; he flushed to the tips of his ears. "Geez, Mac, give a guy a heart attack, why don't ya?"

"Who were you talking to?" Duncan asked, stepping away from the counter to look beyond the teenager.

"Nobody."

Duncan raised an appraising eyebrow. "You've been talking to nobody quite a lot lately."

Richie just shrugged and shifted from one foot to the other.

"Wanna talk about it?"

Another shrug. "Nothing to talk about."

Duncan sighed in defeat. Richie had obviously shut down, and he knew from experience that when the boy started giving him one-liners, getting information from him became an extremely slow and painful process. It didn't happen often, normally only when either he or Tessa tried to pry information about the teenager's past out of him, but that was often enough to recognize the signs.

Duncan came up beside him and rested a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Well, you know where to find me if you change your mind."

"Yeah...thanks," Richie said, with a small smile. "Oh, hey, Mac, look at this," he exclaimed, suddenly remembering the reason for his recent burst of energy. He quickly flipped the magazine open to the centerfold spread announcing Jensen Sport's Annual Dirtbike Tournament to be held this year in Seacouver. "This is what I've been telling you and Tessa about for the last month," he said, motioning excitedly to the article that Duncan was trying to read.

"Did I hear my name?" Tessa climbed the few steps from the work area to the kitchen, removing her welding gloves and brushing a hand across her brow as she came.

Richie literally snatched the magazine out of Duncan's hands and rushed to her side. "Look, Tessa. See, I told you guys it was a big deal. Man, I can't believe I almost forgot about it. I sent in all the forms weeks ago."

Tessa smiled over at a bemused Duncan, and dutifully scanned the magazine. "Well," she murmured, suitably impressed, "It does seem to be quite an event, doesn't it? These motorcycles don't look much like yours though, Richie."

"My bike's a street bike, Tess. It's no good on a dirt track," he explained patiently. "Judy Simpson's brother, Jase, is lending me his dirtbike in exchange for all the free work I did on it last month-a Yamaha YZ125. It was a real clunker when he got it. Now I'd put it up against anyone's," he boasted. "I'm gonna win this thing, you wait and see."

"Richie, it isn't whether you win or lose, it's how you play the game," Tessa lectured.

"Uh, yeah, Tessa, I know," Richie intoned obediently, rolling his eyes at Duncan. "But winning doesn't hurt."

"No, I suppose not," Tessa agreed with a small smile. "I've never seen you ride a dirtbike, Richie."

"I used to monkey around with them, but there aren't a lot of places to ride one around here anymore. And, hey, bikes are bikes."

"Richie, these boys are all wearing special outfits," she pointed out, and turned the magazine so Duncan could see.

"Well, yeah, racing suits are nice and everything, but...well, in the amateur classification they let you wear street clothes, so my jeans are cool," he assured them, though he failed to make eye-contact as he said it. "You should see the cup they award to first place. It's huge," he went on, as if the subject of clothing had never been broached. "No prize money or anything, it's more of a status thing, you know? I mean, winning a race on a Jensen track is a pretty big deal around here."

"But why doesn't your friend race himself?" Tessa asked, after exchanging a brief look with Duncan.

"He can't. He won a couple titles a few years ago and moved up to non-amateur status. Besides, he's too old to be in this group. Eighteen through twenty-one-year-olds only."

"That puts you at the youngest end of the scale, Richie," Duncan observed. "Aren't these racers a little aggressive?" 

"Well, sure, a little. I mean they want to win and everything. Don't sweat it, Mac. I can take care of myself," Richie said with a cocky grin before retrieving his magazine and heading off.

Tessa moved up to Duncan's side and laid a hand on his arm. "If you keep frowning like that, you'll get wrinkles," she teased.

Her words produced the desired effect, bringing a wry smile to Duncan's face. 

"He thinks he's indestructible, Tessa."

"I've noticed. But we'll be there to watch him during the race. He'll be fine."

Duncan had to admire Tessa's strong belief that their presence would keep Richie safe from harm. Unfortunately it was far from true, as they both knew only too well from the number of bumps and bruises the teenager had incurred on an almost daily basis in the time they'd known him. 

"I'm sure you're right, Tessa," he said, putting his fears aside. Worrying about something never made a bit of difference in the long run. That was another thing he knew only too well. "At least he's acting more like himself now. He's been awfully quiet lately, but now I know it was just the calm before the storm."

"I think it's sweet that he has so much enthusiasm," Tessa said with a small smile. "Though I will admit that it wears me out just to watch him sometimes."

Duncan snorted his agreement with that statement. "I have a feeling we're all going to feel pretty worn out until he gets this out of his system. But I like this Richie better than the one who has conversations with 'nobody'."

"What?"

"I'll tell you about it later," Duncan promised. "Right now I have a better idea. Richie's preoccupied and your aunt insisted on minding the store. What do you say we adjourn to our room to spend a little quality time together?"

"Oh, I do like the way your mind works sometimes," Tessa said, running a hand down his chest in open invitation, then sliding it into his right hand; she led him toward their room.

Duncan followed eagerly, an anticipatory gleam in his eyes, his worries regarding a certain teenager forgotten.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next few days passed in a flurry of activity. Tessa spent her free time in conversation with her aunt, catching up on family matters and looking through assorted photo albums the older woman had brought along with her. Their laughter was heard echoing throughout the store and apartment on several occasions and it never failed to bring a smile to Duncan's face as he and Richie manned the shop and moved forward on inventorying the stock.

Duncan spent as much time as he could restoring a Tang horse figurine that he had purchased at an estate sale, of all places, for a meager three hundred dollars. The selling price after restoration would range between fifteen hundred and two thousand.

Richie immersed himself in work during the day, and test runs on Jase Simpson's dirtbike in the evenings, his level of excitement increasing noticeably with each passing day. This arrangement required him to spend only a limited amount of time around Georgienne, an added bonus to his way of thinking, since the woman could make him feel like the lowliest-of-the-low with just a look.

It was shortly after lunch on the Wednesday before the race that Duncan and Tessa tracked him down in the living room, stopping short at the sight before them.

Several pair of jeans littered the back of the sofa and two or three shirts were draped across the arms and cushions. Richie crawled out from behind the end table, dragging a boot along with him and tossing one of his two jackets over the side before climbing to his feet.

The couple exchanged amused glances, then turned to the teenager.

"Did the couch explode?" Duncan asked, keeping his tone conversational.

"Just making sure I've got everything ready for the race. It's in three days, you know?"

"Yes, Richie, we know. Between the big red circle on the calendar and the post-it notes you left on the refrigerator, in the office and in my workshop, I think it would be hard to forget," Tessa said dryly.

"Yeah, well, I didn't want to take any chances."

"You planning on wearing everything you own?" the Scot asked, eyeing the scattered clothing.

"No, but I want to look good for the pictures," was the slightly distracted reply.

"Ah." Tessa couldn't suppress a smile. "So how's the bike looking?"

"Great. I'm telling you, guys, I'm gonna—"

"—win this thing," Duncan finished for him.

"Right," Richie agreed, grinning from ear to ear.

"Looks like it might be the perfect time," Duncan said in an aside to Tessa, who nodded and stepped into their bedroom. She returned a moment later carrying a large, festively-wrapped package which she handed to the unsuspecting teenager.

"What's this? You guys know it's not my birthday, right?"

"Not unless you usually have two in less than six months," Duncan agreed drolly.

"Then what—"

"Just open it," Tessa ordered, looking like the cat that ate the canary.

Richie shrugged, but his eyes lit up as he set the box on the coffee table and tore off the paper. He lifted the box top and his mouth dropped open as he saw the contents. He cast a quick glance at the smiling couple, then reached inside and pulled out a red and black racing jersey, pants, gloves and boots, stroking each item lovingly before setting it aside and drawing out the next. The teenager looked up at the couple then with the boots cradled to his chest. "When? How?" he stammered.

"We asked around in the sporting goods stores," Duncan explained, his smile widening at Richie's temporary loss of speech.

"Are they the right kind?" Tessa asked tentatively. "We can exchange them if they're not."

"No. No, they're great," Richie assured them, glancing down at the precious gifts. "You guys shouldn't have done this. Those gloves cost at least forty bucks and these boots had to have set you back about a hundred and fifty."

"Does that mean you don't want the helmet?" Duncan asked innocently.

"Helmet?" Richie squeaked.

This time Duncan made the trip to and from the bedroom, returning with his hands held behind his back. "Which hand?" he asked playfully.

"Duncan, don't tease," Tessa scolded.

MacLeod pulled both hands around to his front. One held a red racing helmet with black and silver flames running around it, the other hand held a pair of jet black goggles. "We got red so we could pick you out in a crowd," he informed the wide-eyed young man, offering both items to him.

Richie hesitantly set the boots down and accepted the helmet and goggles with hands that shook noticeably. "Wow," he breathed. "Oh, wow."

"Well, aren't you going to try them on?" Tessa asked, breaking the teenager out of his funk.

"What? Oh...yeah. Yeah, I gotta try everything on, don't I?" he agreed, gathering up each item and putting them back in the box, placing the helmet on top. "I'll be right back," he promised, nearly falling over the end of the table in his haste.

A short time later he reappeared, outfitted from head to toe in his racing ensemble, and turned from side to side while Tessa checked the fit, tugging at the shoulders and reaching for the waistband only to have him brush her hands away. "It fits great, Tess, quit fussing." He ran into the couple's bedroom then to see himself in their full-length mirror, spotting the pair behind him in the glass. "Ain't I somethin'?" he asked, grinning foolishly.

"You certainly are...something," Duncan admitted.

"Well, I guess I can throw away the receipts then," Tessa said. "And I really should see what Aunt Gigi is up to," she added, squeezing Duncan's arm and turning away.

"Hey," Richie called after her. "Uh, thanks. Thanks a lot," he said sincerely, including Duncan in his gaze.

"You're welcome," Tessa replied and motioned toward the living room. "And I want you to clean up that mess."

"I'll do it right now," he vowed, and rushed out of their room.

Tessa headed in the opposite direction, but Duncan followed Richie to his room where he put the clothes away, albeit sloppily, in the side of the closet set aside for his things, and quickly pulled on his jeans, t-shirt and sneakers. 

"I think Tessa wants to iron those," Duncan informed him before he put the racing togs away. "Just leave them on the bed for now. I'm sure they won't be in Georgienne's way for a while." The Scot looked slightly uncomfortable for a moment. "On that note, I wonder if you'd do something for me?"

"After this? Sure, what do you need? Blood? My first born? Just name it," Richie said enthusiastically.

"Actually, my price is a little higher. Georgienne wanted to do a little shopping and she asked if you could take her."

"Me?" he asked, incredulously. "She wants *me* to take her?"

"I think she's planning on buying Tessa and me a little something for the apartment," Duncan confided. "It's supposed to be a secret, so don't let on that you know."

"Yeah, sure, no problem," Richie droned, dragging his feet at the prospect of spending the afternoon alone with Tessa's aunt.

"Don't look so grim. I'm sure she won't ask you to pitch in," Duncan said dryly.

"Very funny, Mac," Richie retorted, with just the hint of a smile.

"Just take her to Ellerbee's and anywhere else she wants to go. And cheer up, would you? It'll only take a few hours. You'll live through it."

Whatever scathing rebuttal Richie was about to make was cut short as the lady herself appeared, dressed to the nines, as usual.

"Well, shall we be off?" She didn't wait for Richie's reply, but swept out the door, taking it for granted that he would follow. 

He did, after heaving a long-suffering sigh and throwing Duncan a look that clearly said that-the racing outfit notwithstanding-the Highlander owed him, big time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Georgienne Dupree turned out to be a woman of very discriminating taste. Three hours and four stores later, she still hadn't found anything to her liking. She wouldn't tell Richie exactly what she was searching for, only that they had yet to find it. With a description like that, it was a little difficult for the teenager to aid in the search for the elusive item, but his role appeared to be more one of chauffeur than confidante, his knowledge of the area his one and only contribution so far. 

Richie knew better than to hope they were finished for the day as they both climbed back into the Mercedes after store number four. He had already made that mistake once, and received a short lecture on second-guessing others for his trouble. The term 'rising above his station' probably applied, though Richie wasn't sure just what Tessa's aunt thought his station was.

His stomach growled out its objection to going hours without so much as a soda and he wrapped his arms around his middle trying to stifle the noise. Georgienne either didn't hear or simply chose not to acknowledge the disturbance. Richie supposed it was the latter. Letting your stomach growl was undoubtedly a sign of poor breeding, he thought sourly.

His one consolation was that it was nearly dusk, and even Tessa's tenacious aunt would have to give up in another hour or so or risk being late for dinner. Somehow Richie was sure that tardiness was a very serious offense in her book, worth twenty or thirty demerits at the very least.

"There's just one more place I'd like to see. Baglieri's, I believe was the name Tessa mentioned," she announced, as they pulled away from the curb.

"Yeah, I know the place, but I don't think it's a good idea to go there at this time of day."

"And why is that?"

"It's gonna be dark soon and it's in a pretty bad neighborhood. Trust me, I used to live there. I might be able to get in and out all right, but you'll stick out like a sore thumb," he observed, eyeing her Chanel suit and matching shoes with a dubious expression.

The woman's chin went up a notch at that. "Young man, I've travelled through the red light district in Paris unchaperoned. I hardly think downtime Seacouver will pose a threat. And what would an establishment of the kind Tessa described be doing in a disreputable neighborhood?" she demanded, as if Richie were making the whole thing up.

"It's a family-run business. Been there forever and old man Baglieri won't sell."

"Mr. Baglieri," she corrected.

"Uh, yeah, *Mr.* Baglieri."

"Well I'm sure we'll be perfectly safe."

"But—"

"Are you coming with me, or must I go alone?" she asked imperiously.

"I'm coming," Richie said with a heavy sigh, silently planning his revenge on a certain katana-carrying Immortal as he turned the car toward the inner city. 

Thankfully Georgienne discovered something that caught her eye within thirty minutes of entering Baglieri's. Richie heaved a sigh of relief as she concluded the purchase of a turn-of-the-century floor clock standing about four feet in height, that she declared would be the perfect addition to the couple's domicile. He wasn't completely sure just what a 'domicile' was, but figured it must be a hoity-toity way of saying home. 

Mr. Baglieri instructed his assistant to help Richie carry the piece out to the car after wrapping it in a quilted material to ensure a safe trip. The man didn't appear to love his job and took his sweet time in finding the necessary materials while they waited with varying degrees of impatience.

Oddly enough, it was Georgienne who seemed more eager to be on her way, or perhaps she was simply disgruntled with what she must have considered ineptitude on the part of the subordinate. Whatever the reason, she was tapping her foot to a rapid beat. "I'll just go and open the trunk while you two bring it out," she said finally, already on the move toward the door.

"Don't you think you should wait for us?" Richie offered, trying to be tactful.

His effort fell short as Georgienne frowned him down. "Are we going through that again?"

"No, ma'am. I guess not."

"Good. I'll wait by the car."

And then she was gone, disappearing through the door into the rapidly-darkening street.

Another five minutes passed before Baglieri's man called Richie forward to help him lift the clock, and the teenager was more than happy to do so, balancing it with the utmost care as they maneuvered through the door. God forbid he should drop the thing. He'd never hear the end of it, of that he was sure.

Sidestepping their way to the car was easier said-than-done with a eighty pound decoration dangling from their fingers, but they managed it with only one close call. The Mercedes stood a dozen or so feet from the store, but it was a relief to finally reach it just the same.

Richie did a double-take as they set the piece down. The trunk of the car was open, but there was no sign of Georgienne. His first thought was that she had discovered yet another store to drag him into, but a quick glance around him showed that the surrounding shops were either closed or vacant. 

With the clock safely within the confines of the trunk, Baglieri's assistant was already headed back inside. Richie shifted the ornately-carved piece with a grunt, spreading a blanket over it and carefully closing the trunk before walking purposefully down the sidewalk, trying to catch a glimpse of silver-gray hair. A muffled shout had him running on light feet to the opposite side of the street and sidling up to the mouth of the alley there with little regard for his own safety. What he found-Tessa's aunt in the grips of a broad-shouldered figure, another man by his side-had the teenager turning away and mouthing a phrase that would have made the Frenchwoman's eyebrows rise clear to her hairline. A deep breath, and he stepped into the opening

"Keys, lady. I want the keys to the car," the larger figure hissed in Georgienne's face, while trying to strip the jewelry from her fingers.

Richie had only a second to curse himself for being seven kinds of a fool before he launched himself forward, body-slamming the two men standing in front of her. The slighter-built of the two lost his footing at the unexpected attack and went down, landing heavily on the refuse-littered ground while the larger man merely staggered several feet before spinning around to confront the teenager. Richie gave his own interpretation of a battle cry and ran head-long into the hulking figure, head-butting him with as much momentum as his 150 pound frame could muster in such close quarters. It wasn't enough. The man, who topped him by a good five inches, simply picked him up and threw him further into the darkened alley. Richie scrambled to his feet in time to see Georgienne inching her way toward the street, her gaze shifting back to lock on his face.

"Go!" he shouted, knowing that he'd lost his advantage and wouldn't be able to protect her if she fell into the wrong hands again.

Georgienne hesitated, her reluctance to leave the boy plainly etched on her face, but she had to acknowledge that to stay would have made his efforts for nothing.

Richie saw the emotions play across her face in the light from a second-story window, and breathed a quick sigh of relief as she made her decision and disappeared around the corner of the building. His relief was short-lived. Two dark shadows stood between him and the street and he swallowed convulsively as they closed in on him, pressing him back toward the far wall. 

The smaller man squinted into his face and a voice rasped out, "Richie?"

"Yeah," he grunted, unable to place the face with the light from the street at the man's back.

"You know this kid?"

"Yeah, Bents, he went to school with my little brother."

"Didn't learn much, did he?" was the guttural reply. "Like how not to stick his nose in where it don't belong," he added, shoving Richie back into the wall with enough force to knock the wind out of him. The redhead coughed, trying to stay on his feet, but that wasn't an option as a meaty fist made contact with his solar plexus, robbing him of what little air was in his lungs and dropping him to his knees in the scattered remains of newspapers and leaves. "You're back in school, kid, and that was lesson one. Here's number two."

Bents shifted as he drew his leg back, aiming a kick to the teenager's midsection and Richie instinctively fell to his side and drew his knees up, curling into a fetal position to protect his vulnerable stomach and chest, his left knee taking the full force of the blow. He cried out and rolled away, unmindful of the fact that his back was just as tempting a target, and took another hit on his right hip as he struggled to move out of range.

Strong arms grabbed his shirt at the shoulders and dragged him to his feet, spinning him around and slamming him into the wall once more. His knee was a white ball of agony and he bit down on his lip till it bled, willing himself not to let the pain show. He'd learned that particular lesson early on. Never let the other guy know how much it hurt.

He flinched away as the large man leaned in to breathe in his face. "You ready for lesson three?" he asked with an evil smile, and Richie's empty stomach rebelled as the man's rancid breath wafted over him.

"You think...you could do this...without the...commentary?" Richie couldn't help gasping out, however unwisely. "I mean...you keep...breathing on me...and I'm gonna...puke."

There was a barely-audible snicker from his cohort, and Bents growled menacingly, backhanding Richie across the mouth, cleanly splitting his lip. He bent down and picked up a length of pipe, brandishing it and grinning down at the teenager. "I'm gonna really enjoy this," he said, and Richie closed his eyes, cursing his smart mouth and praying for divine intervention.

A moment passed, then two and Richie dared to raise one eyelid, expecting a blow at the same instant. Bents stood before him still, but was looking back over his shoulder toward the end of the alley in a distracted manner and Richie realized that the other man was missing. He reappeared abruptly-breathing heavily-and grabbed his friend's arm. 

"Come on, Man...sirens," he almost shouted in Bents's face, and Richie realized the faint whine he heard was coming from a distance, not from inside his own head. Bents hesitated, glancing at the helpless teenager in his grasp, but the other man was not to be put off. "You crazy? You know what'll happen if they pick you up again for this. Come on!" He did shout this time, and took off running.

Bents hesitated, his fist clenching around the pipe, cold eyes boring into Richie. With a loud curse he shoved the boy away and ran, his footsteps thundering down the alley and into the night.

Richie shuddered, and a moan escaped him as his adrenaline rush died and left him empty of any feeling save relief. He pushed himself away from the wall, limping toward the street and running a hand across his lip to clear away the blood he tasted there. Another dark shape appeared before him and he swayed on his feet, trying to stifle a cry of alarm. A hand grabbed his arm and righted him again, and the unmistakable scent of expensive French perfume assaulted his senses. Gentle fingers stroked his cheek; he raised wary eyes to find Georgienne regarding him from a drawn face.

"Mr. Baglieri called the police. Are you all right? Can you walk?" she asked, seemingly all business, though her voice trembled as she took in his battered appearance.

"I can run if I have to," Richie quipped weakly, gritting his teeth against the pains shooting outwards from his knee as she helped him to the car. "Can you drive?"

"Yes, of course, but shouldn't we wait for the authorities?" The once distant sirens were loud enough now to force her to speak up in order to be heard clearly.

"I'd just as soon not be here when the cops arrive. I don't have the best track record with them, if you know what I mean."

She didn't, not clearly at any rate, but that wasn't her concern at the moment. "Just direct me to the nearest hospital," she instructed, helping him get settled, then moving around the car and sliding behind the wheel.

"No, no hospitals. I'm fine...really," he lied unconvincingly, leaning his head back against the seat and closing his eyes briefly. "Let's just go home...please."

The entreaty, along with the blue-eyed gaze he turned upon her, melted Georgienne's resolve and she pulled the car out into the lane, headed toward The Heights and home.

Twenty minutes later they were pulling into the alley behind the store, where Georgienne surprised Richie by kicking off her stylish shoes and racing inside. She reappeared a moment later with Duncan and Tessa in tow and scolded Richie for climbing out of the car on his own, even as Duncan turned his attentions to the boy's injuries. 

MacLeod took one look at Richie's rapidly swelling knee and overrode the teenager's objections to going to the hospital, ushering him into the nearby T-bird while the teenager tried every argument in his arsenal in a last ditch attempt to talk him out of it.

Tessa stayed behind, plying her shaken aunt with hot tea in an effort to calm the older woman's nerves, and maintaining a steady stream of reassurances while Georgienne watched the clock and anxiously awaited their return-berating herself repeatedly as the minutes dragged by.

"I never should have insisted on going to that section of the city. Richard was against it from the start. By rights that should be me at the hospital now, not that child."

"Aunt Gigi, you didn't know this would happen."

"No, but that doesn't absolve me of blame. I was so certain that I knew better than an eighteen-year-old that I didn't stop to consider the wisdom of what he was saying. What's the old adage? There's no fool like an old fool."

"You're only fifty-eight," Tessa was quick to point out.

"Old enough to think before I act." Georgienne shook her head at her own foolishness and took another sip of her tea. The cup hit the saucer with a noisy clatter as she suddenly reached for Tessa's hand. "You don't think he's *seriously* injured, do you? Perhaps we should go to the hospital ourselves, in case they need us."

"Aunt Gigi, you saw Richie. Duncan had to literally drag him to the car. I'm sure he's fine." A sympathetic pat for Georgienne's hand and the woman seemed to calm somewhat, her gaze drifting back to the clock. Normally it was Tessa climbing the walls, waiting and wondering if Duncan would come back after a fight with another Immortal, Richie at her side, trying anything and everything to raise her spirits. It was a nice change of pace to be the one doing the comforting. Not that she wasn't worried about Richie herself-she was-but she didn't think this was the time to admit it, not with her aunt wallowing in self-recriminations.

Another fifteen minutes with no word, and Tessa joined her aunt in clock-watching.

Sitting in the waiting area outside Radiology, Duncan was watching the clock as well. Richie had been inside for nearly forty minutes while a series of x-rays were taken to rule out any serious injury to the kneecap and surrounding tissue. The Scot had just started toward the public phones intent on calling home, when Richie was wheeled out; he followed as the teenager was taken into a private examination room.

Dr. Ronald Jameson, Tessa's physician since her arrival in Seacouver, appeared a short time later with an envelope containing the x-rays.

"Well, you're a very lucky young man," he announced, slipping the films into place on a light panel. "There doesn't seem to be any damage to the joint itself. No bone chips, or torn ligaments. That's the good news," he said, turning to regard Richie closely. "The bad news is that you definitely have some muscle damage, which will heal itself in time given a little tender loving care." He retrieved a box from a nearby drawer and pulled out an ace bandage. "I'm going to wrap this around the knee to keep it immobile." He turned to Duncan then. "Watch me closely. It can be removed for baths, but then someone will have to rewrap the knee and it needs to be done correctly or it'll be worse than useless."

Richie winced and grimaced throughout the process as the knee was repositioned and bound, trying unsuccessfully to talk the doctor into loosening it slightly.

"I know it's uncomfortable, but it has to be tight for it to do any good. Once that swelling goes down a little you'll hardly notice it. I'll give you some reusable cold packs," he told Duncan. "Keep them on the knee for the rest of the evening, or until there's a noticeable decrease in the level of discomfort. He'll be the best judge of that," he added, nodding toward Richie and smiling benignly at the teenager. "I'll also have some crutches brought in. You'll have to stay off that leg for a while and then limit your activities," he informed the boy.

"For how long?" Richie demanded unhappily

"Hard to say. A week to ten days would be a ballpark guess. Two weeks at the outside. Those muscles need a chance to heal."

"Two weeks! What about the race?" he cried, looking up at Duncan in alarm.

Jameson glanced up from Richie's file. "Race?"

"Motorcycles," Duncan expounded. "I don't think that's a good idea, Richie."

"Motorcycles," Jameson repeated with a frown. "No, I'm afraid that's out of the question. That knee won't tolerate stress of any kind for a week or two, and then you'll have to start out gradually. Say with *walking,* then make your way up to motorcycles," he added with a wry smile.

"Riding a bike isn't stressful," Richie debated with a hopeful expression.

Duncan snorted. "It is the way you do it," he said, and when Richie opened his mouth to argue further, "You heard what the doctor said, Richie. No racing." His tone didn't brook any argument.

"Man," Richie grumbled, glaring at the wall, "That really bites."

Richie had spent the better part of the ride to the hospital talking rings around Duncan. During the ride home he broached the subject of the race again and after receiving a sympathetic look but a solid 'no' for his troubles, became uncharacteristically quiet.

He wasn't exactly pouting as they pulled up behind the store, but it was a good imitation.

Tessa and her aunt descended upon them almost as soon as they came through the rear door. Georgienne blanched visibly at the sight of the bruised teenager leaning heavily upon Duncan as they made their way inside, and rushed to clear away any possible obstacles from their path. Tessa immediately moved to Richie's free side and offered her support, clucking her tongue at the bruises on his face and hands as they approached the stairs. Duncan stopped at the bottom, simply picked the boy up as though he weighed nothing, and took the steps effortlessly. He didn't bother setting him down again, but followed along behind Tessa who led them on to Richie's room.

"No, Tessa, the couch, remember?" Richie reminded her, the first words he'd spoken since they arrived.

"Hush," she scolded mildly, patting his arm as Duncan set him on his feet again. "I suppose he'll need to stay in bed for a while?" she continued, speaking directly to Duncan now.

"For a few days, at least," he acknowledged, bracing Richie as the teenager lowered himself down to the mattress.

Tessa had already moved to the dresser and pulled out a rarely-used pair of pajamas for Richie to change into-the teen's preferred state of dress for sleeping being a pair of boxer shorts and little else-and draped them across the foot of the bed. "Can I help?" she asked, noting Richie's drawn face with a frown.

"No, I've got it, Tessa," Duncan assured her distractedly, as he knelt, unlaced the boy's sneakers, and carefully pulled them off-ignoring Richie's indignant protests and insistence that he could do it himself.

Tessa nodded and stepped out of the room, meeting her aunt just outside the bedroom door and squeezing her hand reassuringly while they waited for Duncan to finish up. He came out a few minutes later carrying Richie's torn and blood-stained clothes, and Tessa went back in while her aunt hovered in the doorway. Georgienne wanted to help, but kept her distance out of guilt and a not unrealistic fear that her presence might upset the youth.

"It's late, and I know you must be half-starved," Tessa was saying. "How about if I order a pizza? Extra cheese and pepperoni?"

"Sure, Tess, that'd be great," Richie replied, with a transparent attempt at enthusiasm. "I could eat a horse."

"Maybe tomorrow," she sallied and pinched his chin, bringing a grudging smile to his face. Tessa passed her aunt on the way out and gave her an encouraging smile before heading off to order dinner and pump Duncan for information on Richie's injuries.

Georgienne studied Richie silently from the doorway. He seemed very young sitting there alone. Very young, and very fragile. She wondered now how she could have ever considered him a threat.

Richie glanced toward the doorway as if sensing her presence, and Georgienne stepped farther into the room.

"Is it very painful?" she asked tentatively, not at all sure of her reception.

"Nah, this is nothing. I had a broken finger once when I was a kid. The bone came clear through the skin and..." He trailed off, noting that Georgienne's complexion had taken on a decidedly greenish tinge. "Oh, yeah. Sorry about that," he apologized, chagrined.

"Quite all right," Georgienne replied, taking a deep breath. "I'm sure it was something to see."

"I'm sorry I got you kicked out of your room, too. I told Tessa I'd be okay on the couch."

"Don't be silly. Besides, this is *your* room," she pointed out, settling on the edge of the mattress. "Which reminds me," she continued, opening the drawer of the nightstand and pulling out a magazine with a rather scantily clad woman on the cover, "I believe this belongs to you. It was sticking out from behind the dresser," she went on to explain at his alarmed look.

"Uh, yeah. Thanks," Richie mumbled, hastily shoving the magazine under the covers and casting a nervous glance at the open door.

Georgienne surprised him by patting his hand and saying "Don't worry. I didn't bring it to Tessa's attention. We'll just keep it between the two of us."

"Okay," Richie readily agreed with a puzzled frown. After all, this was just the type of ammunition she needed to help convince Tessa and Mac to toss him out. "But, why?"

"That's my question."

"Huh?"

"You pulled me out of a rather nasty situation this afternoon, at considerable personal risk. Why?"

"Why?"

"Yes, why? I haven't exactly been kind to you since I arrived. Surely that hasn't gone unnoticed."

"No, I know you don't like me much," Richie confessed, wondering if she had read his mind about the magazine.

"But still you put yourself in jeopardy to help me. I don't understand."

"You're Tessa's aunt," he replied simply, as if that should explain everything.

"And Tessa means something to you?" Georgienne asked, trying to pull the answers from him.

"Of course she does. Tessa's great. Mac, too. How many people you know who'd take someone like me in and give 'em the run of the place?"

"Not many," she admitted, smiling wistfully.

"None, probably. I sure never met anybody like them before. I still don't know why they keep me around."

"Surely they give you reasons."

"Yeah, something about me having potential." He snorted. "Personally, I don't see it, but you can't exactly argue with the Big Guy. Well, you *can*," he corrected with a crooked grin, "but you won't win."

Georgienne found herself smiling, despite herself. The boy had a way about him that could get under your skin, if you let it, a realization that surprised her. At some point in the conversation she had let her guard down, and Richie Ryan had trampled her defenses without even trying.

"Oh, I don't know. I've seen Tessa win a few arguments with him."

"Well, yeah, but they're an item, you know," he reminded her. "Besides, I don't exactly have her je ne sais quoi."

Georgienne's face registered mild shock. "You speak French?"

"Huh? Oh, that." He managed a faint grin. "No, I got that off an old rerun of The Addams Family. I did hear a French song on one of those old war movies, though. 'Mademoiselle from Armentieres,' or something. Had a catchy tune but I didn't get it all, just the chorus. You know, /je t'aime, je t'adore and couchez avec, hinky-dinky parlez-vous/ he sang in a slightly off-key tenor. I know what 'je t'aime' and 'je t'adore' mean, but that 'couchez avec,' that one's got me stumped."

Georgienne bit her lip to keep from laughing at his surprisingly charming naivete. "I can see where it might."

Richie looked at her expectantly.

"I think you'd better ask Duncan for the translation," she advised, clearing her throat.

"Yeah, okay," he replied, falling silent as the events of the day and his disappointment over the race caught up with him.

"Tired?"

"No."

"Is your leg bothering you, do you need Tessa?"

"No, I'm okay. You don't have to stay with me, you know."

"No?" she asked, smiling faintly.

"No. I can take care of myself. Been doing it for a long time."

"Have you?" she commented, mildly amused. "What do you consider a long time?" 

A shrug of his shoulders. "On and off since I was sixteen."

"Really?" There was genuine surprise in her voice. "I hadn't realized. It must have been very difficult for you."

Another shrug. "Sometimes," he said, noncommittally, "When money was hard to come by. Whenever I scored big, it wasn't bad," he added, feeling the urge to shock her for some reason.

"Scored big?"

"Yeah, stole something worth a lot. You knew I was a thief, right? Mac and Tessa told you." 

Georgienne recognized the raw vulnerability behind the words and wondered vaguely how she could have missed it up till now. "I knew that you had a somewhat unsavory past," she answered diplomatically.

Richie snorted loudly at that. "Unsavory. That's one word for it." He shifted in the bed, wincing as his knee protested the movement. "Look, I don't know what you think of me but, whatever it is, you're probably right. I don't deserve to be here, I don't deserve a break. I was a thief and I tried to rob the antique store. You think my manners stink, and you're right about that, too. I don't know a shrimp fork from a salad fork, and I probably never will. Just because Mac and Tessa have gone all goofy doesn't mean you have to, so why don't you just tell them you think they should kick me out and get it over with?"

"Young man, I'll have you know that telling someone many years your senior what to do is considered quite rude," Georgienne informed the teenager curtly.

"Yeah, well, you can add 'rude' to the list, then," Richie retorted, folding his arms across his chest in obvious challenge. 

Georgienne raised an eyebrow and mimicked the action, folding her own arms. The pair sat staring each other down in silence for several minutes. 

"How long do we sit here like this?" Georgienne finally asked.

"Until one of us cracks," Richie toned ominously, then ruined the effect by laughing. "Okay, okay, I give," he conceded, hands raised.

"Good," she said, lips twitching. "Now that that's over, what would you say to our becoming friends?"

"You want to be friends?" he repeated, clearly stunned. "Even after what I just said?"

"Well, you did save me from a very uncomfortable, very *dangerous* encounter. I don't suppose it would be reasonable for us to remain mere acquaintances. Besides, I do believe I'm developing a genuine fondness for you, Richard Ryan."

Richie gave a small shudder. "Listen, if we're going to be friends, you have to call me Richie. Richard makes me feel like I'm in the principal's office again."

"Spent no small amount of time there, I would imagine," she commented with a barely suppressed grin.

"I had my very own chair," he quipped. Only a slight exaggeration.

"Friends?" she offered, hand outstretched.

"Friends," he agreed, giving the hand a firm shake. 

"Good. I'll leave you alone then and let you get some rest," Georgienne said, getting to her feet. "You're looking a little peaky."

"Peaky?"

"Pale."

"Oh, okay."

She leaned toward him and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead. "Thank you, dear," she said with a warm smile, then turned and left the room.

Five minutes later, Richie was still staring at the open door with his mouth hanging open.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Richie's knee bore a close resemblance to a large overripe tomato by morning, the discoloration and swelling enough to convince Tessa that several ice packs were needed along with complete bedrest. Richie tried to talk her out of it, despite doctor's orders, but Duncan added his voice to hers and the teenager was simply outvoted. Tessa even went so far as to confiscate his crutches to prevent any unsanctioned strolls.

Even so, he attempted to make his way to the kitchen later in the day, only to end up sprawled on the floor in the hallway when his leg refused to cooperate. After that Tessa and Georgienne took turns keeping a watchful eye on him, anticipating his needs before he was aware of them, and trying to wheedle a smile out of him when his disappointment over the race threatened his normally cheerful disposition.

Shortly after lunch, Richie gave in to Tessa's repeated suggestions that he take a nap, and awoke to the muted sound of the phone ringing somewhere in the apartment. Duncan appeared shortly thereafter, looking very somber, and Richie pulled himself back up to sit against the pillows. 

"What's wrong?"

"The racing committee is on the phone to verify your entry. Do you want me to talk to them?"

"No. No, I'll do it."

Duncan nodded silently before stepping out of sight and reappearing with the spare phone, which he plugged into the jack behind the nightstand. He gave Richie one more sympathetic look then left him alone.

Richie took a deep breath to steel himself, then lifted the receiver.

"Hello?"

"Yes, is this Mr. Ryan?"

"Yeah, that's me."

"Good. Mr. Ryan, my name is Dave Brewster, and I just want to confirm your entry into Saturday's Amateur classification. Now, you've no doubt already received written confirmation; however, we do have a policy of verbally confirming your appearance as well as imparting a few last minute details. First off, let me say on behalf of Jensen's Sports that we appreciate your commitment to racing and hope you'll find the experience of participating in our competition a positive one."

"Thanks," Richie replied in a lackluster voice.

"Now, as for last minute details. All contestants are to assemble at the West Pavilion at one-fifteen for a pre-race reminder of rules and regulations. You'll be assigned a number at that time. If you fail to make an appearance, you'll be scratched. Your motorcycle has been checked once by our local representative, but it will be checked again before race time to confirm that no illegal modifications have been made. This is all standard procedure. Do you have any questions?"

"No, no, I understand," he answered in a near monotone. This was the point where he was supposed to jump in and tell the guy that he wouldn't be participating in the race this year. 'Come on, Richie, say something.'

"Very good. Well, we'll see you Saturday afternoon then, Mr. Ryan."

"Yeah, thanks," Richie muttered, silencing his inner voice, and disconnected the call.

"Oh, man, oh, man, what the hell are you doing, Richie?" he mumbled under his breath. "There's no way Mac and Tessa are gonna let me walk out of here. Limp out of here," he corrected himself wryly, his mind racing. He bit his lip, then sighed, snatching up the phone once more and dialing rapidly.

The call was answered on the second ring.

"Hello."

"Judy?"

"Richie, is that you? Are you okay? I called while you were asleep, I guess, and Ms. Noel told me about what happened. What a rotten break."

"I'm fine, really. Judy, you gotta do me a favor," he said, speaking softly with one hand over the receiver and both eyes on the door.

"Sure, Richie, anything."

"You gotta tell Jase to meet me at the West Pavilion with the bike at one-thirty on Saturday. Got that? The West Pavilion at one-thirty."

"Sure, I've got it, but should you be racing? It sounded like those guys really whaled on you."

"They did a little damage, but it's no big deal," he hedged. "Listen, I can't tie up this line. You'll tell Jase, right?"

"Don't worry, I'll tell him. Be careful, Richie."

"Hey, 'Careful's' my middle name. Thanks, Judy."

Richie hung up the receiver and slumped back against the pillows. His leg was throbbing again and the most he'd done that day-other than his ill-fated trip to the kitchen-was to walk to and from the bathroom. He didn't even want to think about how it would feel after the race, but it was the idea of deceiving Duncan and Tessa that weighed heavily on his mind. He didn't make a habit of lying to them, though if he played his cards right he wouldn't really have to lie at all. Maybe just stretch the truth a little. Yeah, that would work. They would be happy, he would be happy...everybody wins. Richie kept telling himself that until he dropped off to sleep again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Richie found keeping his plans to himself more difficult than he would have ever imagined. Two days of skirting the subject and trying to maintain his facade of disappointment was starting to wear on him as Saturday approached. He also had to consider the little matter of getting out the door on Saturday without being stopped. Duncan unknowingly made this easier by accepting an invitation to a private auction, and Tessa insisted that her aunt go along after the lady made an off-the-cuff remark about not having attended one in years.

That left Tessa. 

Convincing her that he wanted to be alone wouldn't be that difficult, she was constantly urging him to rest, after all, and with Duncan away she would be handling the store on her own-another plus. His conscience pricked him a little over the thought of lying to her, however white the lie was, but he had dreamed of racing all of his life and to be this close and miss the chance just wasn't an option. And when he walked through the door with that trophy in his hands they would be glad he went. 

He told himself that when Duncan and Georgienne came in to say goodbye before starting out late Saturday morning, and again when Tessa brought him lunch at noon, smiling because she had sold a pair of rather pricey Faberge eggs.

Still, when Tessa came in to retrieve his plate thirty minutes later, he found it increasingly difficult to look her in the eye, his gaze shifting from the foot of his bed to the window and back again.

Tessa mistook his fidgeting for restlessness. "I know staying in your room all day isn't much fun, but maybe you can join us at dinner instead of eating in here by yourself. How does that sound?"

"That's be great, Tess," he replied with an exaggerated yawn and accompanying grimace. The yawn was contrived, the grimace quite genuine-a natural reaction to another muscle spasm.

When he looked up at Tessa again a concerned frown marred the Frenchwoman's flawless features. "Maybe you should try to get some sleep, Richie."

Richie just barely kept from smiling at that. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right, Tessa. I am a little tired," he replied, looking appropriately pitiful as he lay back against the pillows.

"Good." Tessa shot him a huge smile, pleased with his quick acceptance of the suggestion. He was being positively agreeable about taking care of himself-an unprecedented event in Tessa's memory.

"I'll be minding the store if you need anything. Just call, I'll hear you," she promised, patting his shoulder. She turned off the bedside lamp, frowned at the sunshine leaking in around the mini-blinds, and stepped into the hall, leaving the bedroom door ajar behind her.

Only after he was sure that Tessa had had more than enough time to reach the store did Richie throw back the covers and carefully swing his legs out of bed. His left knee twinged considerably as he peeled off the pajama bottoms and pulled the racing pants and jersey out of his closet. There was no hope for it, that bandage would have to go-there was no way the padded pants would fit comfortably over it and leave him room to move. He sat back down, unravelling it and groaning quietly as the joint started to throb anew at the release of pressure. 

Richie took a deep breath before tackling the task of climbing into his pants and yanking on the boots. Sneakers would have been more to his taste at the moment, but soft-sided shoes weren't allowed on the track, and he would have had to agree that whenever he'd taken a spill wearing boots, his feet had come out of it unscathed. The rest of him didn't generally fare as well.

He stuffed the gloves into his waistband, scribbled a hasty note saying simply, 'Back soon,' in case anyone noticed his absence, then grabbed his helmet and goggles and made for the rear door as fast as his leg would allow.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tessa glanced up with a welcoming smile on her face as the front door to the store opened. The smile widened as Duncan entered and closed the door behind him.

"You're back early. Didn't you find anything?"

"Nothing we could use. They've got another shipment coming in next week, I'll check with them again after that," he replied, leaning against the wall and watching her rearrange the breakables.

"Where is Aunt Gigi?" Tessa asked, noticing belatedly that the older woman hadn't made an appearance.

"She said she had an errand to run and had me drop her off at the mall. I know," he said at Tessa's surprised expression, "It's not her normal hunting ground, but that's what she wanted. She also insisted on taking a cab home when she finished up. Your aunt is a very determined woman. Now I know where you get it from," he teased. "Richie in his room?"

"Yes, taking a nap," Tessa replied, placing a statuette back in its nook.

"A nap?" Duncan repeated in astonished tones. "That leg must really be bothering him if he consented to that in the middle of the day."

Tessa frowned in sudden concern. "He looked all right, but he did agree to rest without an argument and that's certainly not like him." She tapped one slender finger against the top of the display counter. "I think I'll check on him and make sure he doesn't need anything."

"I'm sure he's fine, Tessa."

"Still, I'd feel better if I checked," she answered, already on the move, locking the front door and moving back toward the adjoining apartment. 

Duncan shook his head tolerantly, and followed with the intention of saying hello to the kid and grabbing something to eat to tide him over till dinner. Tessa shushed him unnecessarily as they approached the bedroom, and pushed the door open slowly.

An empty room greeted them.

"I wish he wouldn't get up on his own," Tessa said with a frown, her gaze shifting to the closed bathroom door. The couple waited quietly for a moment, then Duncan cocked his head to the side as if testing the air; a puzzled frown crossed his face.

"He's not..." The Immortal caught himself before he finished the sentence and brushed past her. Opening the bathroom door without preamble; he stepped into the small room, then out again. "He's not here, Tessa," he said, completing his earlier thought. A few strides to the bed and he discovered Richie's pajamas lying amongst the rumpled covers, along with the short note he'd left behind on the nightstand.

"But where could he..." Tessa began, then, "You don't think he's gone to that race, do you?" she asked in mild alarm, even as Duncan threw open the closet door, searching for any signs of the racing attire.

"No, I don't *think* it, I know that's where he's gone. Damn, I should have seen this coming." He strode purposefully for the back of the building. "I just hope I can get to him before it starts."

"I'm coming, too," Tessa called out, her high heels tapping out a tattoo on the steps and workshop floor as she hurried along in his wake. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Richie drove his motorcycle through the contestant's gate, where the guard checked him in and directed him to the West Pavilion. He joined the other eighteen to twenty-one-year-olds there for a short, pointed lecture on proper behavior on the course, and did his best to listen while balancing his weight almost entirely on his good leg. The would-be racers had a moment of silence and a group yell before disbursing to join family and friends. Richie missed Duncan and Tessa's presence keenly at that moment, and cursed fate for its insistence that he pass all the milestones in his life alone.

He rode his bike the short distance to the inner lot, where he spotted Jase Simpson pacing alongside his battered pickup truck in Contestant's Row; he pulled up next to him, dismounting his bike with a muted gasp as his knee brushed against the leather seat.

"Man, I didn't think you were going to make it," Jase said in greeting, missing the pained look on the younger man's face.

"Thanks for bringing the bike, man," Richie replied, clasping arms with him briefly.

"No problem, Rich, but are you sure you should be doing this? Judy told me about your run-in with those guys downtown."

"Hey, do I look like I'm hurt?" Richie asked, ignoring the sharp twinges coming from his knee and pasting a brash smile on his face.

Jase gave him a long look. "No, you look fine." A shrug then, "Okay, it's your skin. Look they've already checked the bike out and everything's cool. Did they assign you a number?"

"Yeah, lucky seventeen," Richie replied, slipping the numbered vest over his jersey and tightening the straps under his arms.

"What's so lucky about it?"

"That's how old I was when I pulled my last job."

"And that's lucky?"

"Yeah. Yeah it was," Richie replied with a small smile. "Real lucky."

"Whatever you say, kid," Jase said, shaking his head in bewilderment. He dropped the keys to the bike into Richie's hand, wished him luck and headed for the grandstand at a fast clip.

It took nearly twenty minutes to line the racers up in their pre-determined positions. Normally those positions went according to preliminary times, but in an amateur competition, they simply drew lots and were placed accordingly. Richie had drawn third row of four, near the inside, three racers on one side of him and one on the other. There were nineteen racers total, five in the first three rows, with four filling out the fourth and final row, which would mean a crowded field until the slower riders were weeded out.

Richie set his goggles in place and took deep breaths to calm his rapidly-beating heart. He noticed several others doing the same and wondered how many of them were like himself, racing officially for the first time. More than a few, to judge by the shiny new racing outfits that surrounded him. He silently thanked Duncan and Tessa for their gift once more as he noticed that none of the other contestants wore street clothes. Not all of the outfits were in the best shape, but they were all official gear.

An announcement was made over the speaker system, alerting the spectators to the imminent start of this particular race and a hush fell over the crowd, all eyes turning to watch the nineteen young men as they revved their engines and leaned low over the handle bars. Richie tuned out the pain exuding from his knee, focusing instead on what was in front of him as the moment seemed to hang in time.

The starter's gun fired, the gate in front of the first row dropped, and nineteen dirtbikes shot forward.

It wasn't an auspicious start for Richie. At least a dozen riders beat him to the front and he was forced to drop back almost immediately and wait for an opening, dodging and weaving on the hilly track to maintain his own lead over those on his tail. He had a number of close calls as one motorcycle after another came a little too close for comfort on the tight confines of the circular course, and one of his own doing as he attempted to pass on a turn. 

Patience wasn't Richie's strong suit, but with perseverance he was gaining on the pack directly in front of him as they neared a sharp bend; he steeled himself for a fast break, if he got the chance.

Too late, he saw one of the lead cyclists spin out, slamming into the riders on either side and creating an unbreachable barrier for those behind them.

In an attempt to miss the fallen riders, Richie dipped his bike to the side, literally laying it down at forty miles-per-hour, his left leg taking most of the weight as the bike's momentum dragged him across the ground. He slammed into one of the hay bales lining the course; the cries of the other racers in his ears. At least nine motorcycles lay scattered across the dirt, with some of the riders checking for damage to their machines while others hobbled off, surrendering the race and the day. 

Of those remaining, Richie was the first back on his bike, gritting his teeth against the sharp pains radiating outward from his left knee as he pulled himself aboard it once more. He'd seen enough of what remained of his pants at mid-leg to know that he had done some rather serious damage to the skin underneath, and from the way the joint was spasming, he suspected there was added injury to the muscles as well.

He ignored the warning signals his brain was issuing against pursuing the race, and revved the engine, holding the bike in place as the rear tire spun, dislodging dirt and debris. A moment later he gave the bike its head and tore after the pack at top speed.

Half a minute, no more, and the other riders were in sight, their slight lead dwindling. Richie leaned into the wind, cutting the drag on his bike, and gained on them by sheer force of will. He was a mere thirty or forty feet behind when the lead racer spun out, taking another half dozen riders with him in a tangle of body limbs and metal.

Richie held his breath and swerved, trying to avoid the pileup, leaning as far into the curve as he dared without risking dumping his bike again. He cleared the group by scant inches, jerking the motorcycle upright once more with supreme effort while his knee throbbed in rhythm with his pounding heart. Dirt flew in all directions under the rear wheel as it dug into the track-Richie pushing the bike to its limits in a new burst of speed-racing toward a first place win, now within his grasp.

Only three bikes were ahead of him now and, of those, one seemed to be having mechanical problems, black smoke issuing from its tailpipe while the engine coughed and choked. Richie overtook it quickly, clinging to the Yamaha as if it were a part of himself and demanding everything it had to give. The final two racers were side-by-side, without a handsbreadth between them as they approached the final turn. Richie closed his eyes and said a short heart-felt prayer, then moved to the outside, his outer boot skimming the hay bales on that side even as he willed himself to take up as little room as possible and pushed forward. The rider on that side threw him a quick glance, startled at his sudden appearance, and Richie couldn't resist a smile as his bike propelled him forward onto virgin ground. He barely had time to look up as a flag waved overhead and the crowd roared in the grandstands on every side. 

He had no immediate memory of stopping the bike, or of the congratulatory slaps on his back as he was borne up to the winner's circle-though he would remember flashes of this later-but the heady feeling that came over him as the judges shook his hand and presented him with the large silver-plated trophy was something he would never forget.

Holding the trophy over his head and smiling widely as cameras flashed around him, despite the searing pain in his knee, he almost failed to notice the striking couple standing off to his right...almost. Something made him turn his head in that direction and he caught sight of Duncan and Tessa as they advanced on him wearing extremely forbidding expressions. He hastily lowered the trophy and took the few steps down to solid ground while trying to pull away from the surrounding crowd, hoping for a little elbow-room. The weight of the large cup threw him off balance, causing him to step down hard with his left leg to catch himself as the crowd shifted to accommodate him. A sharp knife-like pain shot upwards from his knee to his brain and the leg buckled, twisting his body around with it. 

Richie barely registered the fact that he hadn't struck the hard ground, even as a familiar voice told him to take it easy. He opened his eyes to find himself leaning back against MacLeod's broad chest as Duncan lowered him the rest of the way to the pavement, and wondered idly how the Scot had managed to clear a path through the throng of spectators so quickly. 'Of course, if a large man with a sword were running in my direction, I'd get out of the way, too,' Richie thought irrationally, gritting his teeth as his knee reminded him that there was nothing even remotely humorous in his situation.

Tessa appeared at his side, shooing away the curious onlookers with a strong voice that was at odds with the anxious expression she now wore. "Should I call for an ambulance?" 

The question was aimed at Duncan, who had leaned across Richie's shoulder to examine the torn pant leg and the battered, swollen flesh beneath. "I'd feel better if we took him ourselves," he told her. "We'll make better time and I want him to see Doctor Jameson. Pull the car up as close as you can, Tessa, and honk when you're ready."

Richie was starting to feel like a bystander in his own life. "Don't I get a say in this?"

"No!" was the unanimous reply, and then Tessa was gone, leaving him alone with the angry Highlander and about four hundred strangers.

Jase appeared suddenly, elbowing his way through the crowd and dropping down beside them.

"Hey, Man, are you okay? What happened up here?"

"Yeah, I'm okay," Richie said, registering the sound of MacLeod grunting behind him at the obvious lie. "I'm sorry about banging up the bike."

"Hey, no worries. Body-work I can handle. Just take care of yourself or Judy will never let me hear the end of it for loaning it to you," the young man shot back with a wry smile.

"Jase, my bike's still over by your truck and I—"

"Hey, Richie, don't worry about it. I've got it covered, okay? And, by the way, congratulations. Great ride, kid. I couldn't have done better myself."

Richie gave him a look full of gratitude and the two clasped arms, then Jase was gone, disappearing back into the crowd, leaving Richie alone with MacLeod once more.

Richie tried to shift to a more comfortable position, or at least to a safe distance from Duncan, but the Scot was having none of it. "Be still." Two little words, but the tone was enough to quell the teen's movements instantly. Richie sighed then, and chanced a glance over his shoulder. The look on Duncan's face had him swallowing hard and ducking his head back down to contemplate his feet. They, at least, weren't staring daggers at him. Neither of them said another word until a horn sounded in the near distance, then Duncan rose to a crouching position behind the younger man. 

"All right, hold on. Here we go. Let me do all the work, Richie." 

Duncan wrapped his arms around Richie's chest from behind and swiftly pulled the teenager to his feet. Richie hissed as his left boot dragged across the surface of the asphalt; he was turned, then found his stomach up against Duncan's shoulder as the Immortal hoisted him up into a fireman's carry, lifting him clear of the ground. The world appeared upside-down to the teenager as Duncan wasted no time striding to the car amid a buzz of well-wishers and gawkers. It was only then that Richie realized he still had a death-grip on the trophy, its weight nearly dislocating his shoulder as it swung precariously from his fingers. He adjusted his grip on the cherished possession, loath to lose it now. He somehow doubted the Highlander would be sympathetic-or particularly eager to go back and retrieve it should it fall to the ground-and might instead consider it poetic justice. 

They reached the T-bird quickly, and Richie just had time to spot Tessa standing by the open door before Duncan spun him around and lowered him easily to his feet. Richie was careful to keep his left leg raised without bending his knee as he was maneuvered into the back seat where he could spread out. Tessa climbed across from the other side and gently wedged her silk sweater underneath his knee to keep it elevated, biting her lip as he groaned despite her best efforts. 

"Don't, Tessa, I'll get blood on it," he cried, trying to pull the sweater away.

"Hush," she ordered, slapping at his hands and frowning down at him. "Do you think I care about a piece of clothing?"

That shut him up. That, and Duncan's scowling face, which appeared to his right, leaning in over the passenger side of the car. He squeezed a blanket from the trunk between Richie's back and the arm rest, providing a much more comfortable support, and readjusted the boy to his satisfaction. A quick nod for Tessa, and then they switched sides-Duncan climbing behind the wheel as she slid into the passenger's seat.

The trip to the hospital was a silent one, with Tessa reaching back often to make sure that Richie's knee remained elevated, and frowning fiercely whenever the T-bird found a particularly deep rut in the road and she saw Richie tighten his hold on the seat and grit his teeth.

Dr. Jameson saw them almost immediately, giving up his attempts at shooing Duncan and Tessa from the examination room when Tessa planted her feet and stubbornly refused to go.

What remained of Richie's left pants' leg was quickly cut away to reveal a mass of cuts and abrasions, but it was the sight of the joint itself-swollen to nearly three times its normal size-that drew a loud gasp from Tessa, and a round of muttering and head-shaking from the doctor.

After cleaning and disinfecting the cuts and contusions while Richie gripped the sides of the table white-knuckled, a new series of x-rays was ordered. Tessa took this opportunity to run to the phones and call home in the hopes that Georgienne had returned. She had, and was nearly frantic at finding all three of them absent, surmising correctly that something untoward had occurred. Her wildest imaginings hadn't prepared her for the truth, however, and she seemed caught between exasperation at Richie's antics and deep concern for his condition. Tessa knew the feeling well and could only give her own personal assurance that they would all be home soon.

Tessa hurried unnecessarily back to the examination room and ended up watching Duncan pace in angry silence until Richie was wheeled in some thirty minutes later.

Richie, for his part, had endured everything up to this point stoically, inwardly dreading the moment when the doctor would reappear and set his sights on correcting the damage to the knee itself.

That moment came much too soon.

Richie's blue eyes widened at the sight of the large syringe Jameson held as he entered, and he would have scooted right off the side of the table except for the heavy hand Duncan laid on his shoulder.

"W...what's that for?" he stammered.

"I'm going to inject some cortisone directly into the joint," Jameson told him in a very clinical, very detached voice.

"I don't need that," Richie argued, tensing visibly. "Really." That he was lying was patently obvious. Pain was clearly etched across his features and resounded in the slight hitch in his voice, and he suddenly found Tessa's hand in his.

Jameson shook his head as he approached. "I'm sorry, son, but you do need it. Now I want you to hold as still as you can, all right?" Though he spoke to the teenager his gaze shifted to Duncan. A silent message passed between them and MacLeod moved around to stand behind Richie and wrap his arms around the youth's torso in what was, for the moment at least, a gentle hold.

"All right, here we go. This is going to hurt, Richie." 

'Understatement,' Richie thought as the needle sank into the swollen skin surrounding the knee. 'Huge understatement.' Without Duncan's restraining arms, he would have leapt off the table. As it was, he barely suppressed a scream.

"Oh, God, oh, geez," Richie moaned, biting his lip till it bled and unknowingly squeezing the life out of Tessa's right hand as Duncan's arms tightened around him.

"Okay, okay," Jameson soothed, "it's all over. We're done with that one."

"That one?" Richie managed to squeak out, his breath coming in ragged gulps. 

"Well, now, there's a buildup of fluid that has to be drained for the joint to heal correctly," Dr. Jameson explained in a tone that Richie found entirely too blase, considering the rapid beating of his own heart. "The cortisone is doing its job, so this one won't be nearly as bad."

On a scale of one to ten, Richie rated 'not nearly as bad' as a fourteen, but he kept his opinion to himself, saving his breath for the groans that escaped his tightly clamped lips.

"How bad is it?" Duncan asked Jameson finally, maintaining his hold on Richie's shoulders as the teenager slumped back against him.

"Aside from the fact that this would have been a serious injury for a healthy joint, he already had some muscle damage and this has only compounded that. What would have healed in a relatively short amount of time will now take considerably longer," he informed the somber group.

"How long?" This from Tessa who was still white-faced from watching the extraction of fluid.

"Hard to say. He's done some nasty damage, and muscles can be rather touchy things. I'd much rather see a clean break to a bone than this kind of stress to tissue-it actually heals faster in most cases. I'll stick my neck out and say a month if he's lucky and bed rest and exercises take care of it."

Duncan nodded and squeezed Richie's shoulder. "What if he's not lucky?"

"Surgery to attempt to repair it. I really don't think that will be necessary," he quickly added. "Not if he doesn't try to push his recovery."

Duncan's face was grim. "He won't."

"Good. I'll hold you to that."

It was a pinch-faced, exhausted teenager who made the trip home with Duncan and Tessa. There was no easy banter, no bouncing restlessly from one side of the back seat to the other, no reaching for the radio to turn up the volume, and no requests to stop along the way to get something to eat.

Duncan and Tessa, for their part, were courteous and kind, offering words of encouragement as they maneuvered him into and out of the car, then up to his bedroom, but otherwise saying very little.

In anticipation of their arrival, Georgienne had already set up a miniature nurse's station on the nightstand of Richie's room, complete with a glass of water, a bell so that Richie could ring for assistance, and several newly-purchased motorcycle magazines.

She immediately left the field to Duncan and Tessa, who moved purposefully about the room, clearing any remaining obstacles from around the bed after tucking Richie up into it. Tessa spent an inordinate amount of time adjusting the pillows and bedcovers while casting looks that contained an odd mixture of concern and irritation in the teen's direction; Duncan waited cross-armed in the doorway until she finished.

Richie was grateful for their silence, yet feared what it might mean. Not a word had been said about his stupidity, or the trouble this one rash act had caused, and he was leery of leaving things as they stood. He'd seen the Scot brood before, and much preferred when he shouted right away and got it over with.

Of course, if he initiated the conversation he'd probably force Duncan's hand. And an apology was a good start, he thought. "Mac, I, um—"

"We'll talk later, Richie," Duncan interrupted, his tone gruff. "Try to get some rest. If you need anything, call. Don't try to get up on your own, understand?"

Richie nodded silently and watched with a heavy heart as the couple left. Somehow Duncan and Tessa's patient care just made him feel worse about the whole thing, and he found himself wishing belatedly that he'd heeded Tessa's suggestion that afternoon and taken a nap.

That's what he did now as the cortisone deadened the pain in his knee and the stress of the day finally caught up to him. He awoke to Tessa's hand on his forehead and murmured his assurances that he was fine, biting his lip at the newly awakened throbbing in his leg as Duncan helped him into a sitting position while she placed a bed tray over his lap. Richie decided Tessa must have been cooking for hours as he took in the plate generously heaped with Yankee pot roast and fixins, one of his all-time favorite meals. A still-warm hunk of bread and large glass of milk accompanied the meal and Richie's stomach rumbled appreciatively in response to the sight, bringing a smile to the Frenchwoman's face despite her resolve to retain a disapproving air.

Richie dug into the meal like a starving man as Duncan and Tessa left to join Georgienne at the dinner table, but his appetite waned as the pain in his leg increased and he finally pushed the tray away, lying back against the pillows, his face pale and drawn. The couple returned not fifteen minutes later. Tessa took one look at him and hurried out of the room again, reappearing moments later with a small pharmacy bag that she tore open, heedless of the receipt on the front, dropping a bottle of large white pills into her open hand. She opened the bottle of pain medication, swearing at the child-resistant cap that hampered her efforts, and extracted one pill, quickly handing it to him and moving to the bathroom to refill his water glass while Duncan picked up the tray and headed out with it.

Richie grabbed the forgotten bag before it slipped to the floor, and the total on the receipt immediately caught his eye. Seventy-three dollars and forty cents. Geez, he could buy a new motorcycle helmet for less than that. He was going to end up costing Duncan and Tessa a fortune with this little stunt of his. His stomach rebelled at the thought. No wonder they were too furious to speak to him. If he were them, he'd kick his sorry butt out onto the street.

Tessa returned on the tail end of that thought and handed him the fresh glass of water, tsking as she noticed the liquified condition of the cold pack and moving off at a brisk pace to fetch a replacement.

Richie opened his mouth to take the pill, then closed it again, swallowing uneasily. The label on the bottle said it could be refilled once, and, knowing his friends, they wouldn't think twice about doing so if he needed the pills, in spite of the exorbitant cost. Richie listened carefully for the sound of approaching feet before opening the bottle and dropping the pill back inside. So his leg hurt, so what. He'd had worse in his lifetime, and didn't have people waiting hand-and-foot on him then, either. He'd just grin and bear it. Served him right, he thought, clenching his jaw against an especially bad spasm and smiling reassuringly when Tessa returned with another ice pack.

It took several attempts before he was finally able to shoo her out with the promise to call if he needed anything, and he settled back against the cushions, willing himself to tough it out as his knee started to throb steadily.

He didn't hear Tessa's aunt approach and nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw her out of the corner of his eye, wondering how long she'd been standing there studying him. Judging by her opening sentence, not very long.

"Young man, what you did today was incredibly foolish," she informed him sternly, standing hand-on-hips in a very Tessa-like fashion.

"Yeah," Richie agreed softly, making no attempt to excuse his actions, and staring listlessly at the foot of his bed.

Whatever reaction Georgienne had been expecting, that wasn't it. She had been all set to lambast him quite thoroughly for his behavior, but suddenly didn't have the heart to continue. Instead she quietly settled on the edge of the bed, noting with a frown Richie's tight-lipped reaction as the mattress dipped slightly-along with a general whitening of his face.

"Would you like me to call Duncan?" she asked, taking his hand.

"No!"

Richie's vehement response took her by surprise, but she didn't push. "All right. Suppose you tell me what's bothering you."

"What do you mean?"

"I've been accused of being pretty perceptive when it comes to people. Oh, I may not have done very well in that area lately-at least in regards to you-but I am learning," she assured him with a small smile, which wasn't returned.

Instead Richie returned his gaze to the foot of the bed and kept it there, hoping she'd let the subject drop. She didn't.

"I'm prepared to wait all night, if need be."

That drew a response from the teenager.

"There's nothing to talk about, okay? I screwed up...again. I do that, you know. Just ask Mac and Tessa. I'm a royal pain in the ass," he ranted, the pain spurring him on. "I might as well have it tattooed across my forehead. 'Richie Ryan. Screw up.'"

"Well, that was quite a mouthful."

Richie regretted his outburst immediately, wishing he could take the words back. His injury notwithstanding, Georgienne had a knack for getting him to bare his soul, and he didn't like it one bit. 

"Sorry," he said at length. "Must be the drugs."

"Undoubtedly," she agreed, not believing a word. "I wouldn't worry about it. You'll be back on your feet in a short time and then—"

"Yeah, in a month." Richie laughed humorlessly. "I can't help Tessa rearrange the shop like she wanted. I can't take the inventory for Mac. I can't do anything till this damn knee heals. A month, the doctor said. Two weeks wasn't enough for me, noooo, I had to go for four. Man, I don't blame them." 

That last made little-to-no sense. "Don't blame who...for what?"

Richie frowned without looking up. "Nobody. Look, I'm kinda tired. Would you mind if we talked later?"

"No, of course not." Georgienne rose slowly to her feet, careful not to cause any unnecessary shifting of the mattress. A quick glance in the boy's direction confirmed that her caution was for nothing, his skin had gone a ghastly shade of white at the small movement, his eyes squeezed shut against a groan.

"Rest, dear. I'll stop in to say goodnight a little later." A small pat on his shoulder and she left the room, closing the door behind her and setting off with a determined stride to find Duncan and Tessa.

She found them in the kitchen, as expected. Duncan making some minor repairs to a Black Forest cake he'd picked up at a neighborhood bakery-knowing that anything chocolate would bring a smile to the teenager's face-while Tessa critiqued his efforts from her seat at the table. 

Not one to mince words, Georgienne came right to the point.

"Did either of you speak to Richie about his self-destructive little ride this afternoon?"

"No, we haven't said anything to him about it yet," Duncan told her with a quick glance over his shoulder, busy replacing fallen cherries on the top of the cake.

"Well I think perhaps you'd better...and soon," she said cryptically.

"Why, what's happened?" Tessa asked, already on her feet, imagining the worst.

"I'm not sure, but something has changed since this morning. That is not the same boy I've seen about this place since I arrived," she said with a certainty that caught Duncan's attention.

"Not the same in what way? Other than the fact that he's sitting still," he said drolly.

"It's not that. He hasn't been active since the trouble in town, but there's been a definite change since this morning." She paced from one end of the room to the other, then stopped in front of them once more. "That boy is sitting in there, looking like he's lost his last friend, and-although he didn't say so-I got the distinct impression that he thinks his days here with you are numbered."

"What?!!" Duncan and Tessa cried in unison.

"That's ridiculous," Duncan stated, regaining his composure first. "Richie must know we would never tell him to leave."

"Of course not," Tessa added. "Where did you ever get an idea like that?"

"From him," Georgienne, replied. She held up a hand as Duncan started to say something. "Oh, I don't think he knows that he let the cat out of the bag, to use an American idiom. But if you had been in the room, you wouldn't have had any doubts. I know I don't."

"Aunt Gigi," Tessa said taking the woman's hand and pulling her down to sit at the table beside her, "What exactly did Richie say?"

"It wasn't so much *what* he said as how he said it," she stated firmly. Tessa looked puzzled at this, and she continued, choosing her words carefully. "You no doubt already know that he has a rather low opinion of himself." Duncan and Tessa's frowns were answer enough. "Yes, well, now he's blaming himself for his current condition and his inability to pull his own weight around here. Granted, he did complicate things by participating in that race, but the original injury was hardly his fault. Quite the contrary. I hardly think risking his life for a relative stranger qualifies him as a screw up."

"He told you this?" Duncan asked, frowning darkly.

"I don't believe he meant to tell me anything," she admitted. "It more or less just slipped out. Along with his assumption that you two consider him a royal pain in the ass. That last is a direct quote," she said in response to her niece's shocked expression at her use of such language.

Duncan and Tessa shared a look between them that Georgienne couldn't decipher. 

"I didn't understand why you kept him here with you at first," she admitted, raising a hand as Tessa tried to protest. "I do now. But you're both so close to him that I don't think you realize what's going through his mind sometimes. I hope I haven't made things worse," she added, uneasily. "It's just that I feel partly responsible for all of this. After all, he was injured helping me..."

"Aunt Gigi, don't blame yourself," Tessa urged, her thoughts elsewhere at the moment.

"But he's in pain," she went on, "and worried, and I just feel helpless."

"He's in pain?" That got Tessa's attention right away. "Why didn't he say anything?" she muttered angrily, rising to her feet again and heading toward Richie's bedroom under full steam.

"Tessa, wait," Duncan said, taking her arm as she moved to pass him. 

"How much pain?" MacLeod asked Georgienne.

"I don't really know. I sat on the edge of his bed while we talked and I would swear he wanted to cry out. He was biting his lip and he looked quite pale."

"He shouldn't be in that much pain if he's taking his medication," Tessa declared, as much for her own benefit as theirs.

"*If* is right," Duncan said, with an expression that gave Georgienne pause. She'd never seen anyone look quite so forbidding and yet worried at the same time.

"I think that talk I promised him is going to take place just a little sooner than either of us expected," he said grimly, before he and Tessa headed down the hall.

Richie looked up with a false smile pasted on his face as the couple walked in, prepared to give one of his classic Ryan greetings, but both Duncan and Tessa looked ready to spit nails and the words died on his lips.

"Problem?" he asked hesitantly, after a minute of strained silence.

Duncan regarded him with an inscrutable expression for a moment, then picked up the bottle of pain pills and emptied then into his open hand. He made a quick count and dumped them back into the bottle.

"Richie, this prescription is for thirty pills and there are thirty pills here," Duncan told him, his voice level. "How is that, when Tessa gave you one earlier?" Both adults looked at him expectantly.

Richie smiled crookedly. "I guess they made a mistake," he replied, unconvincingly.

"Try again," Duncan shot back, a no-nonsense tone in his voice that Richie knew well.

"All right, so I didn't take it," he admitted, then-seeing the way MacLeod's jaw clenched-quickly added, "I didn't need it, okay?"

"You didn't need it," Duncan repeated, his tone deceptively mild.

"No," Richie replied, shifting uncomfortably.

"Because you're not in any pain," Duncan continued, seemingly in agreement.

"Right," Richie said, relaxing slightly.

Duncan nodded. "So the knee's not bothering you at all?"

"Nope, not even a little."

"Good. I'm glad to hear that. Funny, though, it looks pretty painful to me," he commented, reaching for the boy's leg. Duncan stopped short of touching the knee, but Richie flinched at the expected contact just the same.

When he looked up again, it was to find Duncan regarding him with an expression completely devoid of humor. The Immortal reopened the bottle of pain-killers and shook one out into the palm of his hand. He offered the pill, and the glass of water from the nightstand, to the teenager. "Take it." This was not a suggestion.

After Richie downed the pill, Duncan removed the glass, but neither he nor Tessa showed any inclination to leave the room, and instead continued to observe the invalid until he became decidedly uneasy.

"What?" Richie asked finally, fidgeting under the intense stares.

"Richie, why didn't you take the medicine when you needed it?" Tessa asked, settling next to him on the bed without touching his leg. "We don't like to see you in pain."

"I don't know," he mumbled.

"Not good enough," Duncan said firmly. "Try again."

The teenager glanced from Tessa to Duncan, then settled his gaze on the foot of his bed. "It's expensive," he admitted unhappily.

Duncan cast a look at Tessa and sighed heavily. "Is that what this is all about, the money? Richie, we have insurance on you. We've had it since shortly after you moved in with us."

"I know, but it doesn't cover everything. You've been showing me how to do the books, remember? You only get a token reimbursement on prescriptions," he said, surprising the Scot with his knowledge. Duncan had just assumed that Richie transferred the figures into the computer without paying much attention to them. "I saw the receipt for this stuff, Mac. It costs a lot, oughta be gold-plated. And then add in all the x-rays and doctor bills...I don't blame you for being pissed off."

Duncan sighed once more and turned away from the bed and its occupant. Sometimes he forgot that Richie hadn't come from a loving family, that to the teenager anger-even silent anger-usually precipitated rejection. He and Tessa had discussed the subject more than once, but apart from confronting Richie with his fears it was hard to alleviate them, and the teenager always shied away from conversations that delved too deeply into his past.

"Richie, yes, Duncan and I *are* both angry, but our anger has nothing to do with money-whether you want to believe that or not," Tessa informed him in a tight voice. "It has to do with you taking foolish chances. Chances that could cause serious injury, or maybe get you killed. Duncan and I don't care about the medical expenses. We *do* care about you."

Duncan turned back to face him then, looking very stern, though his tone was infinitely patient. "We're not angry about the bills, and we're not angry that you won't be able to work around the store for a few weeks," he said. "We *are* angry that you knew it was dangerous to ride a motorcycle with your leg in that condition, and you snuck out and did it anyway. Richie, you could have crippled yourself," Duncan snapped, letting a good deal of his ire show.

"Hey, crashing wasn't exactly in the game plan," Richie protested, glibly.

"Accidents never are," Duncan pointed out, quashing the teen's forced show of joviality.

"No, I guess not," he admitted, glancing from one to the other. "Pretty stupid thing to do, huh?"

"You tell us, Rich," Duncan instructed. "Was winning that race worth four weeks of bed rest and physical therapy, with surgery a possibility?"

Richie's gaze locked on the trophy sitting on the dresser, then dropped to his lap. "No. But if I hadn't dumped the bike, everything would be cool now."

"No, Richie," Duncan contradicted, "everything would not be 'cool' now. You still disobeyed the doctor's orders by putting unnecessary strain on your knee, and Tessa and I would still be angry about it."

Tessa frowned darkly as if to add her support to his lecture.

"I'm sorry," Richie offered sincerely.

"Why? Because you went off to race; because you were hurt; or because we're angry with you?" 

"Can I go for all of the above?" Richie asked disingenuously, with a glimmer of his normal good humor.

"What are we going to do with you?" Duncan muttered, trying to remain stern and failing miserably.

"You could use me as a secret weapon. You know, send me to stay with your enemies and wreak havoc on their lives. Then while they're in a weakened condition, you move in for the kill," he suggested, and managed a faint grin.

"I'll give it some thought," Duncan retorted dryly.

The wheels were turning in Richie's head now. "You know, I could categorize the new inventory from here. All I need are the packing lists and your journal. Heck, if we...I mean, if *you* moved the PC in here, I could do it all," he added enthusiastically.

Duncan didn't want to burst Richie's bubble, but he also had no intention of putting the kid to work anytime soon. "Richie, it'll get done," he said soothingly. "Stop worrying about it. We'll work something out, all right?" 

"Okay."

"How's the pain now?" Tessa asked, taking his hand in both of hers.

"Not so bad," Richie answered noncommittally, earning a frown from her. "Okay, it's not so good, either, but a lot better than it was. I could probably move around on my own now."

That last had Duncan frowning again. "Maybe we shouldn't have brought him home," he said, speaking directly to Tessa. "The hospital might be the best place for him."

"No, Mac! Look, I won't be any trouble. I'll take the pills, okay? You can drug me silly, if you want to. And the rest of the time I can take care of myself. You guys won't have to do a thing."

Duncan leaned down until they were nearly nose-to-nose. "Richie, you're missing the point here. You will *not* take care of yourself," he corrected him, sternly. "You will ask for help when you need it, and you won't do anything foolish-like trying to get out of bed on your own. If you do, you're going back to the hospital, and we won't even discuss it. Got it?"

"Got it," Richie droned unhappily, breathing a sigh of relief when the Scot straightened and moved back a pace. "But, you know, I don't think it'll take four weeks for my knee to heal. No, really," he added when Tessa's eyebrow shot upwards, "I've got these really amazing powers. Not quite as amazing as Mac's, but, if I put my mind to it, I'll bet I could be up and around in a couple of weeks."

Duncan's narrowed eyes had him rephrasing that. "Well...maybe three weeks."

The addition of arms being crossed over Duncan's chest started Richie stuttering. "Or...um...f...four. Yeah, four weeks is, uh...good," he tried, with a sickly smile.

"Sounds about right," Duncan remarked, dropping his arms back to his sides and winking in Tessa's direction.

"I do heal fast," Richie mumbled despondently.

"That's your story and you're sticking to it, huh?" Duncan said, trying very hard not to smile at Richie's forlorn expression.

"Uh-huh," Richie replied, sounding a little uncertain of himself.

"Well, whether you do or not, we are all going to take this very slowly. Understand?" Tessa asked, a steely tone to her voice that Richie had heard on one or two occasions. Generally when he had pushed her to the end of her patience.

"Yes, Tessa, I understand. We're taking it slowly," he repeated and was rewarded with a small smile from the blonde.

"Good. Now you rest," she ordered, patting his hand and glancing pointedly at Duncan as she moved past him and out of the room.

"Make sure you ring that bell if you need something, Richie. Tessa or I will check on you during the night to see if you need any more medication. And you'll answer honestly when we ask you, right?"

"Right. Hey, Mac," he called as Duncan turned from the room.

"Yeah?"

"Maybe this isn't the right time to ask, but what does 'couchez avec' mean?"

"What?" Duncan wasn't sure he had heard the teenager correctly.

"What does 'couchez avec' mean? Tessa's aunt told me to ask you."

"You and Georgienne were discussing...where did you hear that phrase, Richie?"

"That song...you know, 'Mademoiselle from Armentieres.' I understand most of it, just not that," Richie expounded.

"Will you sleep with me?"

"What?!"

"Couchez avec. Loosely translated it means, 'will you sleep with me.'"

Richie's mouth dropped open. "Man," he groaned, blushing to the tips of his ears. "Oh, man, oh, man, oh, man," he started chanting. "And I sat there and asked Tessa's aunt...Oh, man!"

"She probably thought it was funny, Rich," Duncan offered, smiling himself at the idea. "Oh, man!"

"Get some sleep," MacLeod instructed, chuckling as he left the room, eager to relay the story to Tessa and find out from Georgienne just what had prompted that particular conversation.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Richie Ryan, invalid-extraordinaire, entered the kitchen at slightly less than the speed of light, talking over his shoulder and skirting the center island by angling his right crutch to the side.

"Richie, use both crutches, please, and don't move around so quickly. You're not in a foot race, you know?" Tessa scolded, entering behind him with a hand pressed to her throat in response to his head-long flight. "Duncan, I think he should be in bed," she said, appealing to the Scot at her side as Richie used one of the crutches to knock a bag of potato chips down from atop the refrigerator.

"Tessa, it's been two weeks and the doctor said he's doing great," was the Scot's response as he smiled benevolently at the teenager. "A couple of hours a day of moving around the store and apartment is probably the best medicine for him."

"Yeah, Tessa," Richie chimed in from around a mouthful of potato chips. "Besides, I was going stir-crazy in my room."

"The TV, the CD player and the Gameboy not enough to keep you amused?" she quipped, snatching the bag of junk food out of his hands and putting it out of sight.

"Well..." Richie replied, and grinned up at her.

"Oh, all right. An hour or two, but no longer than that," Tessa relented, succumbing to his smile as she so often did.

Richie leaned over and kissed her cheek. "Thanks, Tess."

"Humph," she sniffed. "I don't want to hear one word from you when that leg starts to ache later on," she told him with exaggerated fierceness.

"Promise," he vowed, holding up his right hand and nearly dropping the crutch on that side. He caught it again before it clattered to the floor, and threw the pair another grin before hobbling over to the mail on the counter. He went straight for a magazine near the bottom of the pile, pulling it free with a snap of his wrist. "It came!" 

"What came?" Duncan asked, moving over to his side.

"This is the latest issue of 'Tracks.' The race coverage should be in here. They always send an advance copy to the winners," Richie explained in a rush, hastily flipping through the issue. "Here it is! Here it is!" he exclaimed, twisting around as best he could with the magazine draped across both palms. "Check it out."

Tessa came up on his free side and peered over his shoulder. 

"'Pictured above, the official winner of the Jensen Amateur Dirtbike Race, Richard (Richie) Ryan, of Seacouver, Washington,'" Duncan read aloud, noting with a wry smile the happily grinning figure in the center photo. "'Although he had taken a very nasty spill early in the race, young Mr. Ryan had the pluck and determination to come from behind and take the flag over older, more experienced racers. Hats off to a local son.' No mention of the trip to the hospital afterwards, I notice," Duncan remarked dryly.

"What, and upset the sponsors? Get real, Mac. Besides, it was no big deal."

"No big deal?!" Tessa sputtered, not believing her ears. "Richie Ryan—"

"Am I intruding?" Georgienne asked innocently, as she breezed into the room, filled a cup with coffee and took a seat at the table.

Richie took advantage of the timely interruption to move away from the now-silently seething blonde woman at his side.

"Hey, Aunt George, take a look at this."

"Richard!" Georgienne admonished him, "Do I look like a man?"

"Uh, no."

"Do I talk like a man? Dress like one?"

"Noooo. Oh, I get it, this is, like, 'twenty questions,' right?" he wisecracked.

Duncan cleared his throat loudly and clipped the teenager lightly on the back of the head.

"Okay, I get it," Richie admitted, hands up. "Aunt Georg-i-enne," he rephrased, stressing the last syllables, "Look at this." He set the photo spread from the motorbike race before her. "Pretty cool, huh?" he prodded, leaning against the edge of the table and balancing himself on his good leg. "No, no, hold the applause. Just throw money."

Duncan's snort behind him told him that this wasn't very likely, if he somehow had any doubts along those lines.

"Quite impressive," she admitted, smiling up at him. "It seems that you two have a celebrity in your midst," she told Duncan and Tessa.

"Yeah, maybe now I'll get a little of the respect I deserve around here," Richie said loftily.

"Oh, we respect you, Richie," Duncan assured him, draping an arm around the teenager's shoulders. "And we'll respect you even more after you finish categorizing the new inventory."

"But, my leg—"

"Won't bother you at all sitting in the desk chair," Duncan cut in.

Richie frowned down at Georgienne. "You see what I go through? A great motorcyclist like me, reduced to playing bookkeeper. I just hope my adoring fans don't hear about this," he griped, retrieving the magazine. "I'll be in the office slaving over the books, if anybody wants me," he added, hobbling pitifully out of the room.

The three adults shared a smile between them. "Never a dull moment," Georgienne commented, once he was out of earshot.

"Never," Duncan and Tessa agreed together.

A small crash sounded right on the tail of that thought, coming from the general vicinity of the store. Duncan was already on the move in that direction, with Tessa and Georgienne close behind. They nearly barrelled into Richie, on his way back to the kitchen.

"What happened?" Duncan demanded.

"Um, you know how you said you didn't care about money?" Richie reminded him sheepishly.

"Oh, please don't let it be the Tang horse sculpture that I spent two weeks restoring. Anything but the Tang horse," Duncan prayed, moving past him into the shop. A moment later a window-shaking bellow echoed through the building. "Richie!"

Richie winced and threw a rueful grin at the women. "It was the Tang horse," he informed them, unnecessarily. "You know, I think maybe you were right, Tessa. I shouldn't be up and around yet. I think I'll just go back to bed...like...now." He was already moving toward his room at an amazing clip.

He was barely out of sight when Duncan passed them with blood in his eye. "Richie!"

Georgienne cast a glance at her niece. "I suppose we should intervene."

"Yes," Tessa agreed on a sigh, "I suppose so." She squared her shoulders and headed in the direction of Richie's room.

"Never a dull moment," Georgienne murmured again with a smile, and happily joined the parade.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ End


End file.
